#whumper bonded with whumper

[chaotic-orphan]

Guardian Angel

Whumpee blinked at Caretaker, owlish eyes wide as Caretaker opened their cell door with a key like it was nothing. They didn’t care about making noise or Whumper hearing them, they just swooped into Whumpee’s cell, that same toothy grin on their face that was both friendly and intimidating at once.

“You— you came.”

Caretaker leaned against the door of the cell, crossing their arms over their chest. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

Whumpee just stared. Caretaker nodded at them. “Now that your mistaken lack of faith in me has been rectified, let’s get moving.”

Whumpee nodded their head. Of course! In their stupor they probably looked like an idiot, staring at Caretaker like they were their guardian angel. Probably because they were.

Another voice piped in from across Whumpee’s cell. “Whumpee?” A voice called out and Whumpee’s heart raced in their chest. They ran out of the cell, straight past Caretaker and out the door, going to Other Whumpee’s cell.

They glanced at Caretaker over their shoulder who stepped out of the cell. Eyes pleading. Caretaker’s expression didn’t change. They just said: “no” flatly.

“Caretaker please! Other Whumpee kept me alive in here! We’ve been leaning on each other the whole time.”

Caretaker blinked. “I don’t care.”

Whumpee froze. “What?”

“I don’t care,” Caretaker repeated in the same tone. Whumpee turned to face them fully, mouth agape.

“You don’t understand—”

“I think I understand perfectly, Whumpee. It’s you who’s confused so let me clear it up for you.” Caretaker closed the distance between them, cupping Whumpee’s cheek in their hand so gentle. Oh so lovingly it made Whumpee’s heart stutter and stop, and restart again at Caretaker’s touch. They missed Caretaker, they realised with an ache in their chest.

Caretaker tilted Whumpee’s head up further, ensuring that Whumpee saw the seriousness in Caretaker’s eyes when they told them.

“I came back for you, to rescue you, Whumpee. Your little trauma bonded friend here could be the next Pope, or cure cancer, for all I care and it wouldn’t make a shred of difference, or change my mind, because I came here for you.”

“Whumper will torture them!” Whumpee said, covering Caretaker’s hand with their own. Caretaker’s smile grew softer around the edges.

“I don’t care, little dove,” they almost whispered. The truth of the statement rang home for Whumpee who pulled away in disgust.

“If you came here for me then why don’t you do this for me? Just this one thing, please!”

“Please,” Other Whumpee echoed. Caretaker straightened. There was no way they went through all of this trouble and effort just to come rescue Whumpee, sweep them off their feet, and have to compete for their affection with someone else. Someone they bonded with during the course of their captivity.

“You have the keys,” Whumpee said, voice pleading. Caretaker looked into the cell Whumpee was standing in front of. Assessing the damage. If they brought Other Whumpee and Whumper caught up to them, Caretaker could always throw Other Whumpee under the bus and kill two birds with one stone. “Please.”

Caretaker’s eyes slid to Other Whumpee’s and there was a spark there. Something threatening and belligerent. Caretaker stepped back, a shutter sharpening all their soft edges when it came to Whumpee and grabbed Whumpee’s wrist.

“Yeah. No can do.” Caretaker started dragging Whumpee away, kicking, screaming and cursing.

“Caretaker! Caretaker please!” Whumpee screamed, pulling at Caretaker’s fingers, but they might as well have tried to punch a hole in a block of concrete. They fell dead weight but Caretaker continued on like they weighed nothing.

Whumpee threw their head over their shoulder, tears streaming down their face when they saw Other Whumpee at the bars to their cell.

Whumpee was about to scream and tell them that they’d come back for them, that they’d rescue them, but Other Whumpee beat them to it.

“If you’re getting some fool-hardy notion of rescuing me right now, forget it. Live for me instead.”

“Other Whumpee,” Whumpee cried as Caretaker dragged them up the stairs. “I’m so sorry.”

Caretaker marched on, heart breaking at Whumpee’s cries. They had come too far to stop now. They’d free Whumpee, that was what they came here to do.

They could make a new mission to free Other Whumpee once Whumpee was safe. Maybe take down Whumper and get Whumpee to testify… Caretaker didn’t falter as their brain formed a secondary plan.

Whumpee first.

Always.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A.N for WRITERS BLOCK — if you’re trying to escape that dreadful writer’s block, imagine yourself as a Caretaker (Whumper//whumpee) and write the scene!!!

This is how I would act as a Caretaker — selfish, determined and detached🫶 no heroics from me😌 #sorrynotsorry whumpee, RIP your friend ig?

[hurtfortea]

Trauma Bonding

Whumper showers Whumpee with praise and affection after abusing them, caring for them. Comforting them.

Whumpee quickly becomes dependent on the praise, after all, it's the only positive interaction they've gotten since being captured.

As years pass, Whumpee begins to honestly believe Whumper cares about them and makes excuses for their behavior and abuse.

When Whumpee is saved, they don't understand why. Whumper loves them. In fact, they want to go back.

And isn't Caretaker the one who's keeping them from what they want, despite saying they want what's best for Whumpee? It doesn't seem right...

[lilac-rose-writes]

As someone who's been writing Kindergarten fanfics since 2021, I have to say that I'm excited by the new trailer!

In all the time I've known this fandom, it's been rather inactive & very small. Now don't get me wrong, that's absolutely lovely. The Kindergarten community is is one of the best I've ever had the pleasure of being in, everyone is so talented, and being so small means that pretty much everyone knows pretty much everyone! These past few years have shaped me so much as a person, and I can attribute a great deal of my current writing skill to having these games available to take inspiration from & write about.

They mean a lot to me, and being able to write about the cast so much for so long has allowed for a sort of understanding & connection with their characters that I haven't really experienced on such high a level anywhere else. It's like I know these kids and their messed-up world, and having new elements added into the mix that I can't control is, I admit, the tiniest bit daunting.

After all- what if the new game doesn't live up to expectations? What if I don't enjoy it as much? What if the characterisation is different? What if everyone else likes it and I don't? Where the HELL are my hoodie children???

But at the same time, this is such a wonderful opportunity to welcome new artists & writers to our little community, and to potentially have a huge boom of beautiful contributions. Despite being so active under the Kindergarten tag on AO3, I only really joined the fandom 3 years ago, and KG2 was made in 2019. As long as I've known it, this place has been pretty dead.

Since coming to tumblr a few months ago and seeing all of the brilliant art and AUs on here, I've grown sure that this will continue be a fabulous fandom to be a part of, no matter what the new game brings. It's so full of creative, talented people, and I look forward to seeing it come a little more to life once again!

Thank you all for the past 3 years, and for everything that came before. I can't wait to see what we'll do next <3

[clickerflight]

Fleeting: Part 6 - Younger Brother

Author's note: I am being so brave about this stomach ache right now.

Masterlist - Part 5

Content: vampire whumpee, vampire whumper, silver cage, bound, human blood bag vibes, manhandling, blood drinking, brainwashing (kind of), sire bond

.................................................

Esial spun in the silver cage, trying to find a way out and struggling uselessly with the bindings on his wrists. His face still burned, but his rage took the pain away. He had to find a way out. He had no idea where they’d left Joseph, but they weren’t going to get away with this. 

He threw his shoulder into the cage, snarling as he pulled back to try again, heat seeping through his sleeves from the silver. 

“Stupid one, ain’t he,” one of the two people left said. The third one hadn’t come back from wherever he’d taken Joseph and the one who had come back smelled like blood. “He’s not going to be breaking out of a silver cage.”

“I would not be so flippant, Harold,” the one who smelled like blood said. “He is an ancient vampire. Possibly as old as our employer, and you know how silver no longer affects him as much.”

“Guess that’s true,” Harold said sullenly. 

The car ride ended after some time spent going uphill and Esial was in no mood to make this easy on his kidnappers. They opened the back of the truck to show a parking garage out of the sun. 

Esial hissed, showing his impressive fangs to them and struggling with the bindings, fighting to get out and drain them both before trying to find Joseph. Or maybe just find a phone to call Muir. 

“Careful,” Harold said. “We’d better throw a blanket over him so he doesn’t bite us.”

The one who smelled like blood nodded and picked up a thick folded fabric from the corner of the back of the van, opening it up and tossing it over the cage. 

Esial screamed, slamming his shoulder harder into the bars and rocking his weight back and forth as they tried to pick the cage up. 

Harold hissed as his fingers were caught between the floor and the cage and Esial made sure to lean more of his weight that way. 

“Fight me!” Esial growled, rocking back at the wrong moment, causing the cage to topple. He tried to get himself situated again, hissing like a deeply offended tea kettle, but with the moment of disorientation on his end, the two men managed to pick up his cage quickly. 

It was turned again before Esial could throw his weight around and placed on something before he heard several clicks around the base of the cage. 

He threw himself at one side of the cage, but the cage was locked down into the wheeled base, keeping it steady. 

He curled in on himself, shoulders hunched and fell completely silent, waiting. 

“Ooh, I don’t like that,” Harold muttered. 

Good. You’re not supposed to. You won’t like when I tear out your jugular vein either, Esial thought to himself, imagining what this man’s blood would taste like. 

The cage was pushed until he heard the ding and rumbling of an elevator. They got in, and that strange swooping feeling happened, telling Esial they were going up. 

Soon enough, they were moving again, and after a few turns, the blanket was pulled off. 

He blinked in the dim lights and looked around. They were in a building so opulent he had only seen the likes of which in movies. Specifically in the movies where people have to break in and steal something very very expensive or important, and there are an awful lot of men with huge guns roaming the halls. 

Thus, Esial was not very surprised to see one with a huge gun go past, nodding to Harold and the other man. 

Esial sniffed, impressed, though still very angry. He needed out. He had to get out. His crocodiles would need tending to soon and he was the only one who actually did it right, no matter what Mattew said. Matthew could go spend all of his time with the penguins for all Esial cared. 

They stopped in front of a huge door and Harold leaned forward to knock. 

“Enter,” a deep voice called from inside, sending unfamiliar shivers down Esial’s spine. 

Harold pushed the door open and they pushed the cage forward, stopping it on top of a rug that looked obscenely expensive. Sort of like the one in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice that turned to quicksand. Esial had developed a small wariness around expensive rugs because of that movie. 

There was a vampire sitting in the chair behind the polished and obsessively organized desk. His dark skin and features were familiar to Esial, belonging to his era and the area he grew up in. He was old and extremely powerful. Esial could sense that he was older, but the man had not been out of commission like Esial had been. This vampire had been gifted with all the time in the world to develop all of his powers and could kill Esial very very easily because of that. 

“Ah, finally. You two leave. I will deal with our guest.”

Esial twisted to see the two men leave, bowing out backwards, which he supposed was not an out of place show of respect here considering how old the vampire was. 

Esial turned his attention back to the vampire, who was standing beside the cage without any hint of evidence that he had moved while Esial was looking away. 

“I am Amon,” the vampire said in a warm tone of voice. 

He grabbed the lock and, while it did burn him slightly, he easily tore it away and tossed it into the corner. He opened the door and stepped back. “I do apologize for the treatment, however, I heard you put up quite the fight.”

Esial walked forward on his knees and slid out of the cage, getting to his feet to look the other vampire in the eye. It was strange to talk to someone like that. He had gotten used to looking up at everyone all of the time. 

Amon seemed to be waiting for something but laughed. “Ah, but where are my manners?”

He stepped around Esial, though Esial turned swiftly, baring his fangs.

“Apologies, friend. I am only trying to free your hands,” Amon said, still looking quite amused. 

Esial stared at him for a long moment before half turning. Amon undid the cuffs and tossed them to the side, dusting off his hands as though the matter was forgotten. 

“Now, let me call for some refreshments. Please, won’t you sit down?”

“I would like to go now.”

Amon paused on the way to his desk and looked over his shoulder through a cascade of finely braided hair. “Oh yes? We can be done quite quickly, you know. I only want to talk. Besides, look out the window. Where would you go?”

Esial glanced out at the sunlight before hesitantly stepping forward to the seat, sitting down like the chair was going to kill him. 

Amon pushed a button on the phone on his desk and a chipper voice said, “Yes, sir?”

“Send in Monica and Garcia, please, Kari.”

“Of course sir.”

Amon released the button and sat down, steepling his fingers and looking over them at Esial. “You and I have a lot to discuss, yes. You, my older brother.”

“We are not related,” Esial said firmly. At least, he was pretty sure he’d never seen this man in his village.

“Oh, no, not that way. Through our Sire of course. Isut Jaoalt. The first vampire. You were the first fledgling, and I his second.”

“And why do I care?” Esial asked darkly. 

“Because, my friend. I have heard of the terrible situation you have been in, and I wish to offer my assistance. You have not had time to learn all of the tricks of being a vampire as old as I. I am guessing that you cannot even achieve an animal form, is that correct?”

Esial shook his head. “Though I still do not know why I should care. Where have you put my friend.”

“Your friend? Oh, the vampire taken with you? He will be alright. I have entrusted him to an associate for the time being. I really did have to speak with you.”

“Your men burned him. And me. Badly. He was unconscious. That is not right, and I will not speak with you until I know he is safe.”

The door opened then and two women stepped in, smelling of perfume that enhanced the scent of their blood and wearing scanty clothing that allowed as much access to their skin as possible. They had fresh scars all up and down their arms, legs, and necks and Esial was horrified to find the blond one draping herself over him, offering her shoulder to him. 

Amon smiled at Esial and said, “Drink up. This will help calm down, I think.”

Esial pushed the woman off and stood up, backing away, disgusted. Memories of the sound of a gunshot and screams and blood came back to him as Amon bit into the woman who had draped herself over him. 

“I am leaving,”Esial said firmly, turning and making his way to the door. 

There was a scream as a woman was flung to the floor and Amon appeared in between the door and Esial. “You will not leave. We still have things we must discuss.”

“And I have said that I will not talk until I know Joseph is safe,” Esial said, grabbing Amon by his expensive silk tie and jerking him to the side. 

Before he could touch the door, however, he was on the floor, head spinning and arms aching as Amon held him on the ground, fangs bared. “This is your last chance, Esial of Jeseph. You can do things as I say, or I will make you do as I say.”

Esial writhed and managed to kick out one of Amon’s legs, though Amon once again moved in a blur and had Esial on his stomach, his arm wrenched at an awkward angle, threatening to pop out his shoulder. “The hard way it is, then,” Amon growled into Esial’s twitching ear. “You will not get to see your friend. I promised him to my associate to deal with a certain annoying detective. They will be setting a trap for him and his station now, mark my words. At any moment I can call him and have him visit your friend. Maybe yank out a fang, scoop out an eye, gut him and stick silver spikes in the reforming digestive system. How does that sound?”

Esial went very still and pale, his slow heart beating slightly faster.

“That’s what I thought,” Amon said smugly. 

“What do you want?” Esial asked, voice trembling now. He didn’t mind being hurt, but not Joseph. Joseph was kind to him and wasn’t as good with pain. He still hurt from missing his partner and all of that time spent in a box. He didn’t deserve any more pain. 

“The amulet your father made you. But we’ll get to that in a minute. You need to be taught some respect.”

Esial screamed as Amon’s fangs tore into his throat, drinking his blood. Esial could feel a faux sire bond forming, forcing Amon’s will over Esial’s and he began drifting away under Amon’s thrall despite his twitching limbs and the tears rolling across his face. 

Part 7 - Coming soon

From Dust to Ashes Taglist: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight 

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthespiral @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[ashintheairlikesnow]

so... how about that jameson au though

(Anon is referencing an AU where Nanda turns up alive, I wrote a short piece on the concept here)

CW: Whumpee returned to whumper, captor bonding, dubcon (mostly implied? mostly), grief

Nanda's thumb and finger rub along the back of Jameson's neck, and he closes his eyes, tipping his chin forward to bare the skin more fully to the familiar touch. The leather seat beneath him feels impossibly soft. The car is new, but the scent of it isn't.

"What do they call you now?" Nanda asks, carefully casual, steering into a turn without signaling. His car, sleek and silver and looking somehow incredibly futuristic and oddly sexual, glides along the road. "In this house I found you in?"

Jameson doesn't look up. He can feel his skin prickling, the hair on his arms standing up. At the same time, he's shivery, feels a warmth pulsing through him. "Jameson," He says. His voice is hoarse. It's always hoarse now. For so long...

"Jameson?" Nanda's voice sounds curious, only curious. His fingernail scrapes lightly along Jameson's nape, edging the softest baby hairs there. Jameson's breath catches. "Like the whiskey?"

He swallows. Custard and blood, a voice he thought he'd never taste again. Vanilla and copper, somehow swimming together. It's not a good taste, but it's one his life revolved around once. A taste he loved, sometimes hated, sometimes both in equal measure. "Yeah." He drops to a whisper. "I was kept in a... a house for a while. I could see these bottles... he'd empty the bottles, and line them up. Jamison Whiskey, always. I thought it-... it sounded like a good name."

Nanda pauses. "... you read the bottles?"

Oh, right. Nanda never knew.

Jameson hitches in a breath. They're still slipping through the city like an eel through ocean, winding around neighborhoods as if avoiding beds of green plants waving in the water. The lights are purple in some spots and bright in others. Jameson wonders if Nanda's taking him-

... what used to be home.

"I read the bottles," He whispers. "I could-... I could always read."

Another long pause. Nanda glances behind him, then pulls over - still without using his turn signal, and that sure hasn't changed. The car's tires crunch along the gravel beside the road, then settle into a rumbling smoothness as they move into grass. Nanda cuts the lights, and leaves he and Jameson sitting in total darkness, without even a streetlight to see by. Only the dim hint of moonlight and stars.

"You weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I... I know. But I can."

"You never told me you could." Nanda's palm is heavy and hot on his neck, now. Jameson twists his fingers into his sweatpants to keep his hands from shaking as Nanda's voice drops low, too. "You lied to me."

"I was-... scared to tell you."

"You should have told me anything. Everything. There shouldn't have been anything I didn't know."

"No, I know, but... fuck. What if you had them take it away?" He looks, now. He finds the courage to raise his head, to turn and look Nanda right in his eyes. They're just a gleam in the night. "I needed it. I, I'm alive because I can read. If I couldn't, and you died, I wouldn't have... been able to read, to, to know-"

"You lied." No anger. Just calm certainty. "To me."

"... yes. I lied." He jerks away from Nanda's hand finally, raking a hand back through his hair, hating it again. It used to be thick, and kind of pretty actually. Used to look good. Even this long after escaping Robert, it still grows in unevenly, different lengths. And some places never grew back at all, so he has to grow it out to cover the bald spots up, but then the uneven bits are obvious, and... "I fucking lied, okay?! I had to protect myself. I had to, to keep safe."

"From me?" Nanda's voice is empty of emotion. It's worse than anger could ever be. "You had to protect yourself from me?"

"More than anyone, you fucking asshole!"

He's going to cry again. He forces the heat of the tears back, lets them turn into a twist of acid anger in his chest alongside his racing heart. He doesn't lower his gaze. He looks Nanda right in the face.

He thought he'd never see this face again.

"You-" His voice cracks, and he fights to get it back. Not to go silent now, when he has to say this, the thing he's always held inside. There's never been a grave he could cry at, there's never been a body to bare his heart to. Not since-

"You could have killed me yourself, and I'd have let you do it." The words come out too quickly, they run together and he's breathless at the end of the sentence. He grabs at Nanda's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he can feel Nanda's bones move, can hear the slightest hiss of breath as he winces. "And you might have. Even if all you did was send me back, they'd wipe it all away again. I'd lose too much, I'd lose you, you shit, and I didn't want to lose you. When you died, I thought-"

"I wasn't dead-"

"I didn't fucking know that!" He can't scream anymore, not like he used to. His voice only turns to wind, the rasp of an oncoming storm. Nanda is a rumble of thunder, and Jameson the leaves shivering on branches about to blow down and die. "If they found me, they'd blame me, and they'd send me back, for being defective, for being a fucking reject, for-... they'd take you away. They'd take you away from me, from my head."

He pulls Nanda's hand to him, leans forward, his forehead resting against the warmth of Nanda's palm, those fingers curved slightly over the top of his head. Like a god giving benediction, maybe. Like he could be lifted up or shoved off a cliff with just one motion.

"I couldn't lose you, not because I wasn't right. I couldn't fucking lose you. If you knew I could read, if you sent me back-... if they sent me back after you died-... they'd take you. I couldn't, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. You're mine, god damn it, you were mine!"

"Pet-"

"I had to keep you mine." He drops his grip on Nanda's hand, but it doesn't move away, and neither does he. "I had to keep you in my head, because-... because if you were gone, and I didn't know you, then why was I ever here?"

He's talking about Nanda, and he isn't. There's some other face beneath it, another voice, another taste. A smile he'd known from his first memories, a loss he couldn't recall because it had been a loss too great to bear losing.

He doesn't let that other face surface. Some part of him knows the name but he holds it deep, deep down. "I'm what I am because I thought it was okay to lose, to forget, but when you were gone, I, I couldn't, I couldn't lose again. I couldn't forget you again. Don't you fucking understand that?"

Nanda stares at him, slightly wide-eyed, an expression Jameson has never seen before in his handsome, angular face. There's so much more silver in his beard now than there used to be. But they both look so much older, so much different, now.

The silence draws out, between them, and Jameson twists. Lightning threatens. There's no rumble of thunder, only the weight of something about to break overhead and if it does, he'll drown.

"Well?" His voice shakes, but he covers it up with rage. He always covers up his fear with anger. It's the only way he's lived this long. It's safe and easy. "Lost your fucking voice now, all of a sudden? Huh? You gonna fucking say something to me, you piece of shit, you were dead and how goddamn dare you come back and take me like nothing ever happened, like I didn't-... like I didn't have to live without you, for so long without, like I-"

He never finishes the sentence.

"Shut up," Nanda snaps. It's a growl, a snarl, and Jameson thrills to the sound of his voice. His hands are there, they shove Jameson to the side and then back. Nanda hits something along the side of his seat and the back drops flat. Jameson gasps as his head bounces back against the headrest, and then Nanda is on top of him again, yanking his shirt up with a ferocity that feels like the cloth burns along his scarred skin as it goes. His wrists are tangled in the cotton and Nanda grunts, irritated, and leaves it there as he works at Jameson's sweatpants, yanking them down off his hips until he's nearly naked, on his back in the passenger seat of a car, on the side of the road.

"Nanda-"

"I said shut the fuck up-"

Nanda's hand claps over his mouth, and his protests are muffled at first. Then they aren't protests at all, as Nanda's lips are hot against his neck, and then his teeth dig and his tongue works against the reddening skin he's just bitten.

Nanda's hand closes around him, between his legs, and Jameson cries out, all but levitating off the seat into scorching touch. He's dizzy, with the way all his blood suddenly shifts to meet that hand. He can barely think. Nanda's strokes are rough and fast, and Jameson rolls into them, again and again. All his thoughts are washed away by the lust that floods him.

Somewhere under that, though...

He's still afraid.

It could end any second.

It could all have been a dream.

This might have been the wrong choice.

Or it wasn't a choice at all.

Nanda yanks his hand back and Jameson whimpers at the loss, whines like an animal in heat, only to have Nanda grab him and roughly turn him over, throwing him back down. They're closed in this car, the space too small for it. His elbow bangs on something, his feet are pressing up against the rough carpet under the dashboard. But that hand is off his mouth, then. He can breathe, and he can make a sound that isn't entirely human as Nanda's mouth is back on his neck, the heat of his chest against Jameson's shoulder blades, the hardness of him pressed just where Jameson wants it, always wanted it

Didn't always want it-

"Nanda... please-... just wait-"

"I don't wait for you," Nanda whispers against his ear, nips at the shell. He can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling, as broken as that sound is now from his ruined throat. "You wait for me, when I say. You don't tell me when."

Jameson's eyes open, then. He's staring into an expanse of stars through the back windshield, and the sky is so goddamn empty between them, isn't it? Between the tiniest points of light, dead suns, and maybe their planets still revolve around them in the darkness.

"... I was learning," He whispers.

Nanda pauses. His breath is deafening against Jameson's ear. "What?"

"... I was learning how to say when."

He's a planet orbiting a dead star.

"Pet-"

"... I loved you."

"Loved?"

He's crying again. Goddamnit, he's crying again, and his shoulders shake with the sobs he can't hold back any longer. Nanda exhales and drops, weight against him, reassuring and real, alive. "I still love you, but I love-... I love-... I loved that I learned to be-... to b-be Jameson, fuck, stop it stop it stop crying, you shit, you fucking, just stop fucking crying!"

"Sssshhhhh. It's okay." Nanda's voice is a rumble, and the world shakes a little, gentle as a shower of rain. But he can't taste the rain here, not so far away from Allyn.

He can't taste the rain, only copper and sweet.

The stars blur into nothing, they're lost to the darkness when he tries to look through the tears. Even if his vision clears, it isn't even the stars he'd be seeing.

"Nanda... there's someone else."

He only sees the memory of what's already been lost.

[pierceofheart]

Thinking about... a zombie Apocalypse type of setting

a wasteland bare of medical equipment, shelter and food and water.

dangerous and full of zombies that would kill you on sight.

No way to heal those who are left behind due to an injury, no way to cure one who is bitten.

Thinking about a group of survivors, not many because there's little to benefit from big parties of people when you don't have the needed equipment or/and food and water to sustain everyone.

Thinking about Whumpee 2 or Caretaker in the group getting sick/injured or possibly bitten and being left for dead.

They understand, but one does not want to continue without the other by their side and they don't give up on each other.

Maybe they were a tight pair of friends, lovers or possibly just trauma bonded with each other enough to be too dependent on each other to leave.

Thinking about... a mad scientist whumper in this setting

where they are desperately trying to make a cure. Maybe trying to redirect someone bitten, or formerly working with the government to make the cure.

Maybe they crashed completely from isolation and developt a god complex of somekind.

Or the Whumper just clung onto the delusion of making a cure for something possibly incurable to the point of loosing their grip on reality.

and now they need a healthy person(whumpee 2) and a already bitten/zombifief person(whumpee 1).

The whumpee 2 was seen as the weaker link of the two, but the perfect match to try and experiment on. So

Whumper very smoothly lying, manipulating and literally gaslighting the two into trusting him. Offering them food, shelter, fresh water and medical supplies from their own "good will".

Caretaker and whumpee 2 both take the bait and fall into the trap. And while Whumpers keeps Caretaker clueless he lures whumpee 2 to trust them enough to get them completely trapped into a cage next to the bitten/zombified whumpee 1 who had been the first or otherwise there before them.

It's too late when the realize what the fuck is going on.

Just thinking of the horrid smell around the base, the scattered papers. Whumpee 2 being roughly shoved into a cell of some kind and seeing the first Whumpee now turned to a zombie.

While being prodded and poked Whumpee 2 learns about true Whumpers intentions. And now they're being used as little test subjects and a prisoner, a bargain for caretaker to stay when they're too stubborn to leave without whumpee 2.

Just some random tinkering. 0.0 also I'm currently sleep deprived so excuse if the thought isn't completely comprehend-able. I do hope it is at some level lol.

~ Pierce out

[shywhumpauthor]

Today is a “tell myself I’m going to write but never actually commit to writing” kinda day

[flowersarefreetherapy]

😘 And/or 🥨?

😘 kiss them

🥨 stress position, preferably if they’re contorted

CW: Creepy whumper, noncon kiss, stress positions

“Please,” Daniel whispers. He hates himself for begging, but it’s getting too hard with the ropes biting into his wrists, with Star’s choking whimpers behind him. “Please, please . . .”

He is suspended in the basement, arms tied tightly above his head, pulling his body up onto the very tips of his toes. By glancing over his shoulder, he can just see Star. His bonded kneels on the cold cement floor, wrists tied to his ankles, keeping his body bowed. The same rope tied around Daniel’s wrists runs over a beam and back down, wrapping around Star’s neck in a tight noose. 

They have held this position for hours. At first it was easy. Daniel would do whatever he could to keep his bonded safe. He could hold the position. It would be easy. Star wouldn’t choke at all. An hour in and his foot had slipped. That was the first of many, many times. Star’s throat was now red and raw, the noose digging into his skin. Daniel apologized every time. For the first few, Star responded, but he had stopped some time ago.

Please, don’t leave me, love. Stay here with me, please stay here with me. 

“Please,” he keeps whispering. Their master has to hear him at some point. He won’t leave them down here forever, will he?

Daniel bites his lip hard enough to bleed as he fights to keep from screaming. The ropes dig tighter into his wrists, raising him up further. He yelps, fighting to find any purchase he can.

“Star!”

By craning his neck, he can just see his bonded. Star is slumped the best he can, his body having given up. Daniel shakes his head, heart racing. 

No, no, no, this can’t happen. Star, love, you must wake up! Star, please, you’re going to kill us both!

“Well, I didn’t expect you to still be standing.”

For the first time since that horrible box was opened, Daniel is overjoyed to hear his master’s voice. He whimpers as Theodore walks down the stairs, a glass of whiskey in hand. His gaze rakes over them and a small smile plays on his face. 

“Good boys. You lasted much longer than I thought you would.” Theodore steps up to Daniel, his smile twisting into something more dangerous. “I suppose you want me to free you?”

“. . . please,” Daniel whispers. “Please, release Star.”

“Now how did I know you would want him free.” Theodore shakes his head with a chuckle. “Since you asked so nicely, though . . .”

He grabs Daniel’s chin, pulling him down. A yelp of protest is swallowed up in a kiss. Theodore holds him in place, deepening the kiss until Daniel can barely breathe. Over the rush of blood in his ears, he can hear Star’s choking cries. 

“Good boy,” Theodore whispers. He pats the side of Daniel’s face when he steps back before circling him. His master whispers something to Star too quiet for Daniel to hear. 

Then he is yanked off his feet. Daniel shouts as his weight hangs from his wrists. Something pops in his shoulder and he prays it isn’t dislocated. Then he is crashing to the ground. His head knocks against the cement and everything goes black. When he can see again, Theodore is carrying Star. Carrying him away, but that’s okay. His bonded is more important. Star needs to be taken care of. He’ll be fine. No one needs to worry about him. 

He’s safe. That’s all that matters. 

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Fourteen

Prompt: blood-stained tiles (febuwhump prompts)

TW: blood, bleeding, knife wound, gunshot wound, fingers in gunshot wound, knife mentioned, gun violence,

*~*~*~*~*

Whumper knew there was someone in his house when he reached his street. He frowned, hand going to the gun concealed under his jacket as he walked down the garden path. There were no signs of obvious entry, but Whumper knew. He could feel the slightly laboured breaths from inside. His frown deepened when he realised that he knew who those breaths belonged to. He took his hand off his gun and went for his keys instead.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, dropping his bag by the door. He continued into the house, leaving the lights off. His intruder knew he was here, knew exactly that Whumper knew they were there. He left the lights off for more of a dramatic effect.

“I would advise against breaking into the house of someone who can detect you from streets away,” he said, turning to the intruder who sat with their back against Whumper’s oven. That wasn’t what drew his attention though. It was the amount of blood that was on his beautifully charcoal tiled floor. Whumper pulled out a chair and sat down at his table, staring at Whumpee.

“Do you know what’s really inefficient about you?” Whumper asked, reclining back against the chair while Whumpee fumbled in their pockets for something. Their hands came out, stained with the dark red blood, stark against Whumpee’s pallid face. Whumper noticed the white knuckled grip tight on a box of Marlboro as Whumpee pulled one out and dangled it loosely between their lips.

Whumpee kept Whumper’s gaze the entire time with their usual stare that was a melting pot of all Whumpee’s emotions; bored, superior, empty. Whumpee grabbed the lighter from the box, a shitty corner shop one with a skull on the side. The flame gave Whumpee’s face a little life, a little colour. It made their face a little more human, made the contours and the shadows darker but highlighted skin pulled over bone and muscle.

Whumpee didn’t reply as they cupped the lighter, more out of habit to shield it than any real threat of it extinguishing. Maybe to shield it from Whumpee’s own cold stare Whumper mused and laughed a little to himself at the thought.

Whumpee dropped the lighter into the box, then dropped the box onto the blood-stained tile they were currently bleeding all over making the charcoal even darker Or, more accurately, was bleeding all over. Whumper suspected their wounds had healed by now.

“Hey. Did you hear my question?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee replied. They let the smoke cloud their gaze and for a brief moment of reprieve Whumper didn’t have to stare into those soulless, dead eyes. “I heard ya.”

“You musing on the answer? Or are you thinking of answering in the next year?”

Whumpee scoffed. “You’re so needy, Whumper.”

“Yes,” Whumper replied deadpan. “I’m the one bleeding all over your beautiful kitchen right now.”

Whumpee didn’t reply. They just lifted their shirt as if only now remembering that they were injured at all. The wound wasn’t completely closed just yet, in fact… it looked as if it was still bleeding, but it would be another couple minute at least until Whumpee would heal. Whumper frowned at it, Whumpee healed fast – something like warning bells sounded in the back of Whumper’s mind but no… there was no way.

“Relax. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“The smell of your stale cigarette smoke, however, won’t be,” said Whumper with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Whumpee’s left index finger twitched. An emotional outburst on Whumpee’s account.

“I’ll clean up after myself,” said Whumpee, taking a long, slow drag of the cigarette. The house was quiet enough that Whumper could hear the cinders sizzle at the end of the cigarette like a dozen little sighs. An extension of Whumpee’s mood.

“Oh please,” Whumper scoffed, getting up from his chair and stalking over to the light switch and flicking on the light. “You couldn’t clean up after yourself if there was a gun to your leg.”

“Head.”

Whumper blinked. “What?”

Whumpee let smoke out through their nose. “The expression is a gun to your head.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Whumpee. Did I stutter?” Before Whumpee could answer the question, Whumper brandished his gun with a flourish and shot Whumpee through the thigh. Whumpee let out a strangled cry, bending over their leg with a string of curses as Whumper crouched so he was eye level with Whumpee. He placed the muzzle under Whumpee’s chin and tilted their head so he could look into Whumpee’s dead eyes. They glinted like sepulchre in the moonlight, lifeless and temporarily in pain. “To your head, was it?”

“I’m not here to fight.”

“No, you’re just here to bloody my clean floors and irritate me.”

“Whumper, listen—”

Whumper’s hand moved in a flash and a second later a bullet went through Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee’s ears rang like a bomb going off and distantly they were aware that they were screaming, their body curling around the gun on reflex. Whumpee’s hand shot up to grab onto Whumper for support. Letting out a long growling groan through gritted teeth, seething as they sucked in a couple of breaths.

For a while they stayed like that, like statues carved out of stone. Whumpee under Whumper, white knuckled grip on his arm, head against his forearm to take deep steadying breaths and breath through the pain.

After a couple minutes the ringing lessened. Whumper ran a hand through Whumpee’s hair and tilted Whumpee’s head back to look Whumper in the eye.

“I’m listening, Whumpee,” Whumper said with a sweet smile. “I’m still waiting for an answer to my original question.”

“How my power’s insufficient?” Whumpee asked, exasperated. Whumper’s hair tightened in their hair in warning. Whumpee searched their mind for some excuse that would satisfy Whumper. “Probably because it’s only healing and not immunity to pain?”

“Ehh,” Whumper said, mimicking the sound of a buzzer being wrong on a game show. “That’s the reason your power is so fun.”

To emphasis his point Whumper pressed the heel of his shoe into Whumpee’s thigh. Whumpee let out a groaning hum, hitting at Whumper weakly.

Whumper let his foot up and smiled sweetly at Whumpee. “No Whumpee, the reason your power is so inefficient is because of the mess you leave. If you could just not bleed everywhere, everything would be perfect, you know that?”

Whumper crouched again and dug a finger into the bullet hole in Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee let out a mewling cry of protest, but Whumper just kept hurting them. Whumpee grabbed Whumper’s wrist with both hands and for a moment they stopped Whumper’s painful intrusion.

A moment was all they needed.

“He’s back,” Whumpee said quickly, the words coming out in a pained rush. Whumper stiffened. Whumpee let out a stuttering breath as Whumper retracted his hand only to grip Whumpee’s jaw. Whumper stared into those cold eyes and found fear glistening behind them.

“He’s back,” Whumpee repeated. Whumper’s eyes widened slightly.

“What?!” Whumper demanded, his grip tightening on Whumpee’s jaw. “What do you mean he’s back?”

“I got home and he was just in my apartment,” Whumpee whispered, their voice wobbling.

Whumper let go of Whumpee altogether and stood with a short huff of air. “Why didn’t you just run?”

Whumpee looked up at Whumper. “He was waiting behind my fucking door, Whumper… with that vile flesh ripping dagger he loves so much. It wasn’t like I stopped to have tea and a catch up with him!”

Whumper glanced down at Whumpee again. Then crouched and lifted Whumpee’s shirt. The knife wound was still healing. Whumper remembers that blade taking days for Whumpee to recover from.

“You’re not even lying, are you?” Whumper asked, more to himself than to Whumpee.

“Why would I lie about this?” Whumpee asked, their voice taking on a slightly hysterical undertone.

Whumper’s grip tightened on the gun in his hand. Fingers curling ever so slightly more than he had to as Whumper slid the safety back on and tucked the gun into their shoulder holster. Whumpee didn’t speak anymore because they knew Whumper’s mind was whirling, thoughts forming, making leaps and jumps that Whumpee never could. Analysing every word Whumpee just said to get to the real reason he was back.

“Did he follow you?”

“No,” said Whumpee.

“Are you just saying that, or do you know for definite?”

“I don… I don’t know. Shit. Fuck, Whumper… I’m sorry I— I had to run, and I had to warn you and—”

“It’s okay, Whumpee. I doubt he’ll come. He will have known you ran to tell me after you left so there would be no point.”

“He’s going to do it again,” Whumpee whispered, “isn’t he?”

Whumper pinched his lips together and stood. “Honestly Whumpee? I have no fucking idea…”

“What are we going to do?”

Whumper straightened at the question, his easy confidence falling over his limbs like an entire costume rather than just a mask. His shoulders relaxing and his usual smirk on his face as he glanced back to Whumpee.

“Who’s the needy one now?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Whumper replied. “Well, for now there’s nothing to do. Any bullets left in you?”

“No,” said Whumpee begrudgingly.

Whumper nodded. “Good. Then once they’re healed you can clean my bathroom and have a shower. I’ll wrap the knife wound for you and then we’ll… I don’t know, order a pizza or something.”

“You’re letting me stay?” Whumpee asked, their breath hitching.

“Of course.”

Whumpee’s entire body flooded with relief at Whumper’s matter of fact tone. They opened their mouth to thank, actually, genuinely thank Whumper when he spoke again.

“After all you’re the only one who can get close enough to kill him.”

Whumpee’s smile turned into a scowl as they wrapped an arm around their stomach and another, they hooked over Whumper’s countertop to hoist themself up. “You could have at least pretended that you were worried for my safety.”

“I’m worried about my bloody tiles, Whumpee, and how best to rid myself of two pests that refuse to leave me alone,” said Whumper, running a hand through his hair. He let out a long sigh.

“I knew today was going to be a bad day,” said Whumper. Whumper walked out the door and into the living room. “I’m going for a shower. You know where the mop is, and don’t – I swear for the love of God, Whumpee, if you bleed anywhere near my couch, I will kill you myself. Understood?”

“You’re such a dick.”

“I mean it,” Whumper said, holding a finger in the air in warning as he disappeared down the hall.

[cepheusgalaxy]

I had an idea for a story a few hours ago:

(Bbu setting.) Carewhumper is a Pet Owner, who had a stable income and thus could afford one, Whumpee. Onde day, they lose most of their money and are thrown in misery. Almost nowhere to go, no food, no money, just their loyal Pet who is the only thing that they own now, and they can't bring themselves to sell.

The story would be relatively short, with the Owner and Whumpee trying to find food for Owner and Whumpee servicing them loyaly, struggling to survive. In the end, however, Owner doesn't manage to survive and the only one left in Whumpee.

End :D

[the-bar-sinister]

Frightened, half-sedated whumpee on their knees in their cell, bound, hands and feet, unable to move more than to squirm against their bonds.

Whumpee has been there for hours, cold, alone, half-conscious and frightened.

Finally whumper comes in the cell and kneels down behind them, putting their arms around whumpee from behind nuzzling them and playing with their hair, calling them a poor, pathetic thing.

And whumper is warm, and soft, and whumpee is so cold and hurt they can’t help but lean into whumper’s touch, even knowing who they are.

[sleepyiswhumping]

Freak

Elaboration on "Whumper who only takes defiant, vicious whumpees...", also by yours truly.

Content: Blood, Brief Threat of Noncon, Creepy Whumper, Defiant Whumpee, Violence

~~~~~~~~~~

Whumpee growled, thrashing against their bonds. Once they were free, the freak that kidnapped them was dead. And until then, Whumpee was going to make them regret every second of their captivity. 

“Calm down, friend. Don’t want you degloving yourself with those cuffs.” Whumper remarked, striding into their cell. 

Whumpee stared at Whumper, looking deep into their eyes, hoping the raw hatred that smoldered in their eyes unsettled Whumper. 

“Aren’t you just the cutest?”

“Fuck you.”

Whumper chuckled, then grabbed Whumpee’s hair, pulling their head back and leaning in. Whumper’s face was inches away from Whumpee’s, and Whumpee could feel their hot breath wash across their face. Whumper’s cold, dead gaze pierced Whumpee’s soul, pinning them to the ground.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, baby.” Whumper whispered, grinning.

“You’re fucked in the head, you know–” 

Mid-sentence, Whumpee flung their head forward, slamming their forehead directly into Whumper’s nose. They relish that delightful crunch, and laugh as Whumper staggers back, blood flowing down their lips, dripping off their chin, onto the floor. 

"Yea, you like that, bitch? I loved it."

Staring at the ceiling, entranced by the delightful Whumper mumbles to themself.

“Oh. Oh. That’s good.”

Whumper’s mouth opens slightly, blood dribbling between their open lips. Licking the blood off their lips, their mouth opens into a wide, toothy, shark-like smile. Training their gaze on Whumpee, their teeth stained crimson, they laugh softly.

“Oh, you’re fun.”

[whumblr]

Magical restraints

Preferably some invisible restraints. With Whumpee being pressed against the wall (or on the floor), hands held back by an invisible force that they can't break free from. Maybe wisps of smoke around their wrists for the aesthetics.

- Whumper advancing on them, hand outstretched, fingers out. The pressure on Whumpee's wrists increasing with every step closer.

- Maybe Whumper can feel the magic in his fingertips pulse with every useless struggle.

- Or he just casually waltzes up, hands in his pockets.

- Implied Whumper getting closer and closer, right up against them and they can't even bring up a hand to try and force some distance.

- A flick of his hand and Whumpee is forced down to their knees.

- Another flick of his hand, like snuffing out a candle, and the invisible bonds fall away. The casual show of power.

- Whumpee snarling and spitting insults. Whumper just shakes his head and all of a sudden, Whumpee's raging is cut off mid-sentence. A heavy, invisible pressure now digging into their throat, cutting off their air :3

- The team is coming to save Whumpee. They see them alone in their cell, not even tied up, so they think this is going to be a piece of cake. But Whumpee can't get up. And there is no chain to break, no ropes to cut.

- Meaning they have to seek out the source of the magic first before they can get Whumpee out.

- Or well, maybe the source of that magic has noticed the commotion and is already on his way to them :)

- Bonus: he's standing in the doorway to the cell, blocking the exit.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

okay Ash but older nanda and Jameson comf? If he'd lived? Pleeease? Just a snippet. A headcanon. A crömb. -theo-

@boxboysandotherwhump I totally forgot you had asked for me to do this AU so so long ago. Found this old ask abandoned in my inbox and you were PROPHETIC.

Continuing the AU, the last chapter (plus a link to the first) is right here.

-

CW: Intimate whump, some derogatory language, dubcon, some, uh, choking

For a long time, there is only the sound of each of them breathing. Jameson is ragged, rasping at the edge of a sob as he pulls himself back into control, his fingernails digging into the soft leather of the reclined passenger seat. His heart pounds, blood rushing past his ears.

Nanda's breath is nearly silent, far more even. His chest is warm against Jameson's bare back. Even through his expensive fucking shirt, though, Jameson can feel his heart pounding, too.

"What..." Nanda trails off. Jameson has never heard him sound so stunned. Nanda always plans for every angle.

But he didn't plan for this one.

"... what do you mean, someone else?" His mouth moves against Jameson's hair, sending a shiver down his spine. "Are you fucking the woman you live with, pet?"

My name is Jameson. I just told you that.

He bites the words back before they can make it out.

"N-no, not her. Fuck no. No. Absolutely... Absolutely not." He shifts, managing to get his shirt off the rest of the way, stop it from keeping his wrists tangled. It gives him an excuse for how his voice shakes - just from the effort. Only that. "Someone else. Different house. Someone... Someone else."

Nanda is quiet again. He's quiet for far too long. Then, he shifts back inside the tiny space. "Roll over. I want to see your eyes."

Jameson swallows, obeying the easy command with a little curl of warmth. He tips his head back against the headrest, looking up at Nanda, his beard and the line of his jaw beneath the silver and gray. The way the muscles in his arms seem written even more in stone. Nanda eases himself back down, and his weight feels reassuring and terribly final at once.

"Who is it?" His voice is mild. Spoonful of sugar tinted pink, sweetness and salt on Jameson's tongue. He could drown in the taste of Nanda's voice. Used to feel like he did drown, under voice and hands, tied up in ropes and brought to the good kind of screaming.

"... They're called A-Allyn. They, they ran away like I did. Well, not the-... Their owner died, too. They... They understood that I missed you..."

He reaches a hand up, hesitantly, trying to touch Nanda's face. The older man's big hand snaps up to close painfully tight around his wrist, forcing it back down.

"I wasn't dead," Nanda says mildly.

"I already told you, I didn't exactly goddamn know that-"

"No, you were dumb as rocks the one time I could have used the brains we both knew you had." Nanda's voice stays mild, but the insult stings regardless.

"I'm-... not-"

"Oh, you're not? You didn't know how to check a fucking pulse, but you're not dumb, huh? You ran off instead of waiting or calling for help but you still love me, right? Hell, you fuck someone else, but you're not a slut anymore. Isn't that what you're saying?"

Jameson's wrist feels like it creaks as Nanda tightens his grip further and further. The man's other hand drops down to unbutton and unzip his own pants in quick jerky motions. They're down low off his hips in seconds.

Jameson grits his teeth against the pain, refuses to be seduced by it. Or by the way Nanda punctuates the accusations by rolling his hips, the low warmth remaining stoked back into a flame.

God, he feels so hot.

They're both burning.

"If you were d-dead-... Ah! I would have lost you when they took you out of my head, I already s-said that-Jesus that's fucking good-"

His other wrist is grabbed now. He tries to pull it away, but they both know he isn't trying very hard. Nanda's mouth drops to graze against his. To catch him in a kiss, brutal and firm, until he's whimpering and rocking his hips like some mindless fucking idiot, like he used to do.

Nanda chuckles bitterly, pulls back and listens to Jameson's angry hiss at the sudden loss of connection. "If there's someone else, why did you get in my car when I came for you?"

He swallows, closing his eyes. Nanda's burn too much for him to take. Those hips roll against his again and he meets them with his own, arches his back, lets legs shift apart to welcome Nanda between his thighs. He could come from this, if it goes on long enough. "I don't-... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No! Fuck you, no I don't know! You were dead and now you're here and I, I forgot who I am for a second, but I'm-... I'm not that anymore, and I want-... I want to-..." God, he feels it so much, his skin is all raw nerves and sensation. "... I want-"

"You want me."

Nanda had let go of his wrist at some point. He only realizes it when that heavy hot hand closes around his neck.

His breath stutters, gets lost trying to find his lungs. His head spins as the hand tightens, he feels his Adam's apple move against Nanda's palm. "Wait-"

" I spent all these years trying to find you, pet-"

"Jameson," He rasps, barely able to force the word out in a whisper. "Use... Use m'fucking name-"

"Fine. Jameson." God, it sounds so good in Nanda's voice, his own name tastes perfect in his tongue when Nanda is the one to say it. His eyes nearly flutter shut at the simple pleasure. "I have been searching for you-"

"Doing a shit j-job of it, could've used your help a couple y-years ago when I was in some asshole's dog cage-"

"Let. Me. Finish." The grip on his throat tightens even more. There is so little room for him to breathe, chest heaving. He never moves his hands to try and push or fight, though. He knows this tone, the look on Nanda's face. "However you feel about someone else... I looked for you. And I found you. I searched every goddamn corner of California trying to figure out where you fucked off to, and I find you all fucked up for someone else, another pet, huh?"

"I... I loved you... I still-" His voice catches, his throat clicks when he swallows. His eyes are wide, and he sees the anger in Nanda's and wonders why it used to thrill so much more to see it than it does now. "But I-... grieved-... Rebuilt, built n-new... life... I, I fucking deserve to l-live-"

Nanda's lip curls. But he doesn't say anything while Jameson fights for enough air to speak again. They're both still hard, still moving together, and the pleasure mixes with the pain in his throat and the dizzy lack of air, crossing all his wires and leaving him squirming in helpless unwanted arousal beneath Nanda's familiar perfect weight.

"I... deserve s-someone... who l-loves me... back-"

He expects mockery, black spots flashing bright like camera lights around Nanda's face as his vision starts to go, tunneling in on those eyes.

He sees, in the center of the closing tunnel, the whites of Nanda's eyes.

"Please-... If you e-ever... loved m-me-... Please, fuck, please s-say-... it..."

Nanda's thumb pushes against his windpipe as he kisses Jameson. Their mouths open to each other, and Jameson's arms move, finally, only to grip onto Nanda's shoulders. An anchor as he drowns on land, fighting for air.

Then the grip loosens.

Jameson's head pounds as he groans, his throat aches as he gulps air desperately. He'll be marked, bruised. He's been bruised there before. "N, Nanda-"

Nanda's head drops to Jameson's shoulder.

"... Nanda?"

A pause.

"You stupid thing. Why would I have looked so long for you if I didn't?"

[oliversrarebooks]

listen to my Voice, hero

TW: mind control, hypnotic induction, intimate whumper, restraints, corruption

Are your bonds comfortable, Hero? I wouldn't want to cause any damage to your precious muscles and nerves. You are the city's shining hope, after all. Or at least, you have been until now.

Good, now we can have a proper chat. You can just listen carefully to everything I have to say. 

Oh, don't glare at me like that. How many times have we clashed now? And every time you manage to resist my lovely compelling Voice just enough to stop my plans, just enough so that I must escape by the skin of my teeth. You must have known it might come to this eventually, a time when my compulsions are too strong for you to fight, a time when my Voice finally brings you to your knees.

I've been training, dear hero, training especially for you. Training for you, because you're really the only one in this city worth controlling. You're better than all of them. We both know that. And I know how you feel about me, because I've seen the look in your eyes when my compulsions take hold of your pretty little mind.

No, no, be quiet. Be quiet.That's it, there you are. Oh, the delicious expression on your face when I use my Voice on you. I'll never get enough of it.

Most heroes look terrified, you know, to have their thoughts pulled out from under them, to find their body out of their control. Terrified, angry, defiant -- that's how the other heroes look. But you're different. In that moment when I weave my spell on you, when you feel your mind go hazy and your body stop obeying your commands, I see something else in your eyes. I see relief. Deep, unmistakable relief.

No, don't try to deny it. I've tangled with you too many times to be wrong about this. You're relieved when I compel you. You'd never admit it, not even to yourself, but you long for the way it feels. You long to have your choices taken away. You long to not have to make decisions. You long to not have to fight any more.

But every time, you fight. Every time, you break free of my Voice. And I can see the toll it takes on you. That's why I've been training so hard, Hero. So that you couldn't resist my Voice, wouldn't be able to break free. So that I could give you what you want more than anything. 

I've seen you, Hero. I've seen you at your best and at your lowest, haven't I? I understand you better than anyone else in the city. You know it's true. And I can see how exhausted you are. How you've been worked to the bone. How you never get to rest, never get a vacation. I even tried cutting back on my evil schemes in the hopes that you'd take a break, but all you did was pursue other villains twice as hard. 

There are deep bags under your eyes, Hero, marring your beautiful face. There's resignation in your tone that was never there before. I can't stand it, can't stand the way the city treats you. You're destroying yourself to save this ungrateful, useless population and all they do is criticize you. It makes me sick.

And I know what you do once you've defeated me and I escape back to my lair. I know you return to your cold, empty apartment, and curl up on the couch with some convenience food, trying to relax. I know how you toss and turn at night, wondering if you're doing the right thing. I know how lonely you are, Hero. I'm lonely too, you know.

I wish you could see how glassy and dazed your eyes are right now. It's beautiful. Listening to my Voice is so nice, isn't it? Yes, that's it, just relax.

Oh, your hair is so soft. I bet you haven't had a tender touch like this in a while. I saw you lean into it before you caught yourself. Let me run my hand through your hair, there's a good, relaxed hero. Is that a sleepy little smile I see? You like that, don't you?

In fact, you like all of this, don't you? You like having no choice but to relax and listen as my compelling Voice weaves a spell around you. You like the feeling as I slowly hypnotize your vulnerable mind, how your resistance slips away little by little. You've thought about this on those lonely nights, haven't you? What it would feel like if I won. What it would feel like to succumb to my hypnotic compulsions. What it would feel like if you stopped fighting and let me take charge of your mind completely.

Oh, don't struggle. Don't struggle. Relax.There it is again, that relief. My Voice feels good, doesn't it? It feels so good to have the fight taken out of you. Don't deny it, it's written all over your face.

You don't need to pretend you haven't thought about it. You somehow manage to always be the first hero on the scene whenever I try anything. Almost as if you're willing to drop anything to see me, isn't it?

But you were scared. I'm a villain, after all. I don't deny it. You must think I might hurt or humiliate you. Well, you can put all of your fears to rest, because I have no intention of that. I respect you far too much. I'm going to take good care of you, Hero. I'm going to give you the treatment you deserve. I'm going to help you relax. I'm going to take all your worries away.  It's going to feel amazing, Hero, I promise.

I'm sorry, were you trying to say something just now? Still trying to fight it? You'll have to speak up, it's too hard to hear you when you're so out of it.

"It's wrong"? Is that what you said, Hero?

No, what's wrong is how little reward you get for everything you do. That's why I had to do this, had to train my Voice to be strong enough to be irresistible even to you. Now I can reward you. I can give you everything you want, everything you need, beginning with the beautiful, relaxing oblivion of total and complete obedience.

You'll get other rewards, too, of course you will. Together we'll share in the riches of the city, bend everyone in power to our wills. It's what we both deserve. But this is your first and most important reward -- obedience. Nothing is more calm, relaxing, and peaceful than knowing you have no choice, than having every decision made for you.

And all you have to do is listen. 

I'm too strong for you now, Hero, my Voice too compelling. You're almost entirely under my spell, aren't you? I can see how drowsy you are, how my compulsions are putting your conscious mind to sleep.

Yes, that's it. You're too exhausted, Hero. Too tired. Too many nights with too little sleep. You need to rest. You need to stop fighting. You need to surrender.

No one will think any less of you. They'll see how powerful I've become, how easily I can command even the strongest and smartest. They'll realize you had no choice, that it was out of your hands. You won't need to feel guilt or shame. Everyone will know this wasn't your fault, that there was nothing you could do to prevent yourself falling under my villainous control. 

And the fact that you actually enjoy this, the fact that you long to give in so badly and fall under my hypnotic trance? That can be our little secret, Hero.

There we go. That's it, just a little more. Look into my eyes. Look nice and deep into my eyes while I stroke your hair and talk you down softly. Just like you've always dreamed of. No more fear, no more pain. Only sweet restful sleep and deep hypnotic trance. 

That's it, Hero. It's too late. You're too tired, too drowsy, too captured in my Voice to fight it. There's nothing to do. Nothing you have to do. Just feel yourself growing oh so dazed and sleepy as I weave my Voice around you. So comforting. So right. Exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you needed. Exactly where you belong. 

Tell me, Hero, tell me you want this.

That's it, that's it! Oh, how I've longed to hear those words from you. Tell me how my Voice makes you feel. Be honest.

Oh. Oh, my. That's... that's even better than I expected. Far, far better. You love my Voice that much? Oh, Hero, dear Hero, why didn't you say so before? You could have had this any time. I would have been more than happy to bring you to my lair and give you the hypnosis you deserve. You could have been listening to my Voice all day.

Well, it doesn't matter now, because now you can have my Voice all you want, stronger than it's ever been. Isn't that nice? Oh, look at you bob your drowsy head. I don't even need to compel agreement out of you. You're so deeply hypnotized, aren't you? Good, good. Good hero. 

My hero.

Now, why don't you go all the way under? Just keep listening and let your eyelids grow oh so heavy. Let those heavy eyes close. Don't open them again. That's a good hero. So obedient and docile. You're so, so beautiful to me, my drowsy, docile hero. 

Yes, docile. That's what you are, deep down inside. All your strength, all your determination to do the right thing, all of that is a mask that conceals who you really are. A docile and obedient little lamb. And no one needs to know that but me. I'll fulfill your deep craving to be hypnotized and controlled, and you can still be every bit as strong and determined when you're working under my orders. Doesn't that sound just perfect for you? 

All the way under, now, deep into hypnotic trance. Let your resistance fade, my hero. Let your mind fog. Let your mental defenses fall.

Surrender. Surrender and submit. Submit to me, just like you've always wanted.

You can finally feel that relief. You can finally take that rest. Because I have you now. You're mine. I'm in complete control now, my docile little hero. 

And I order you to feel nothing but bliss.

Masterlist

If you like this, you may like "the defiant princess" for more gentle, slow induction on a resisting subject.

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 10

execution/ fake execution/ begging for mercy

Captivity, pet whump, threat of murder, begging, guilt.

°

Whumpee screamed through a cloth gag, pulling at their bonds desperately. Strapped to a table, they were helpless to their own fate. Whumper stood above them, a knife gripped in his hands. Caretaker was chained to the wall in front of the two, forced to watch what was happening.

"Caretaker," Whumper said calmly. "I told you enough times that your disobedience will have consequences. It's time I showed you I'm not playing around anymore.

Caretaker yanked at their chains, eyes brimming with tears. "Fuck you! Let them go," they cried, kicking and trying to free themself.

Whumper cut Whumpee's shirt off slowly, exposing their chest. He tapped the tip against Whumpee's skin. "I'll try and make it fast, beautiful. It's a shame you have to die... you were always my favorite."

Caretaker was in a panic, tears spilling past their cheeks. "No, no! Let them go, p- please, they did nothing wrong!"

Whumper paused, smirking. "Then who did?"

"I did!" Caretaker cried, gripping their own hair. "It's my fault I was bad, I'm sorry! I won't misbehave anymore, just please don't hurt them!"

Whumpee looked pleadingly up at Whumper, whining through the gag. Fear coursed through every inch of their body, causing them to shake and tremble. "Mmph, mnph!"

The knife raised into the air dreadfully slow, aimed at Whumpee's heart.

Caretaker was practically in hysterics, shaking their head. "No, sir, please! Master! I'll be so good, I'll be the perfect pet for you—!"

Whumper grinned down at Caretaker, slamming the knife down.

Whumpee flinched, expecting the sharp, intense pain of the knife. Instead, they were met with a loud thunk beside their ear as the knife plunged into the wooden table beside them.

Whumper glared at Caretaker. "That's more like it. Keep it up, and I won't have to take it any further. Whumpee lives for today."