thecitythatdoesntsleep

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Story Masterlist] 

(Tags/TW: blood, gore, torture, non-consensual body modifications, threatening, violence, implied noncon, gaslighting, captivity, plot dynamics, vampire whumper, vampire whumpee(s), female whumpee, eye-trauma, eye gouging, body horror)

Mina… wake up, Princess.

A chill raced down her spine as the icy hand on her face jolted into her consciousness. Her eyes clamped shut, scrunching, refusing to open on command. Her throat felt like it had been glued shut from dehydration and the pounding in her head only sought to mix with the burning, stabbing pain in her abdomen.

"Come on," Sang purred, his voice cutting through her fog like a fork across a metal plate; heavy with mocking, down to every pet-name. "Wake up, vixen."

His hand slid through her hair, tilting her head so that her cheek pressed against the cool marble floor. He jostled her shoulder and watched more of a grimace take over her features."Come on, Mina. I’ve been waiting to play with you."

The sound of his voice alone stirred an ache in her chest—a mixture of anger and fear. Her limbs, sluggish and heavy with the lingering poison, refused to obey her commands. She hated the way she could feel his presence looming over her, like a predator savoring its prey after the shock of injury.

Lime green eyes slit open and his grin split ear to ear, curling in elation as she started to rouse and give small movements of sentience. Unbound, untamed and if he had any guess, unwilling to be forced into another submission. 

“Y’know.. Decian was right, all this dark skin is tempting. I can see why he loved marking it.” Sang muttered in acidic sweetness; such a low, sultry tone that gave way to a bestial lust he’d fed for ten thousand years and counting. 

Fingers trailed bare skin and she knew she was naked, the sluggish poison of silver making it hard to pull out of the fog but easy to tune into the feeling. The touch was so light, curious and wandering. Gentle but riddled with tension that could change at any moment. Even under the waves of aching, deep pains, she could feel it so starkly against her flesh.

Her jaw clenched, her voice trapped beneath the weight of exhaustion. Each word Sang spoke felt like a blade, twisting deeper into her defenses. She tried to swallow, tried to slick saliva over her teeth as they stuck to her gums; nothing dared to make a dent in the tackiness in her mouth. 

Sang's fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb skimming her cheek with mock tenderness. "And Lukas, so porcelain and translucent; blue and yellow when he’s bruised deep enough… Such a delicate pink where I’ve flayed skin off of him. Blue and berry when you choke him just right…" He mused, his voice dipping lower, more venomous with each recounting of the human’s torment.

 "I understand his fascination with you now. You’d be the perfect contrast to paint with him—warm and rich on the surface, but underneath?" His grin widened, tone became more sultry from its previous depths. "Just as cold, just as broken. Just as devastatingly beautiful.."

Mina's sluggish, darting gaze quickened, her sight barely able to focus on anything around her; pupils rolling behind heavy lids. Sang tilted her head, his eyes flickering with amusement as he pressed his thumb against her parted lips. It got her attention for a moment, paused her flighty stare to look up at him. 

“You see… I have such a deep appreciation for beauty, Mina… I want to immortalize it and send a message to the world, one horrific beauty at a time. There’s a reason I’m known as one of the masters of visceral art.” 

When he parted her lips, he watched them open wider and wrap around his finger; tongue meeting the digit in a swirl. He looked at glowing eyes that barely trained on him, but had steadied; while she filled her tastebuds with the lingering flavor of paint thinner and red wine. 

"Go ahead, bite me, it’ll grow back in a few hours," he taunted in a purr of arousal, fangs throbbing against his lips at the wild, unexpected sight. "Though I doubt you have the energy for that."

“Not playing fair, are you?” The vampire minded, teasingly pressing down on the sticky tongue that slicked against his thumb. It curled around his finger and lips gave such a soft, slow suck; he felt his cock throb against the zipper in his slacks. 

When Mina’s hand raised to grab his wrist, he tensed and yet allowed her movement; where she pulled his hand, surprised him. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what she was good for, what her Master’s always wanted. Vampires were all the same, all fed the same demons when they let gluttony drive them and lust ruin their senses. 

"Ah," Sang purred, his eyes alight with curiosity. "So, this is the game we’re playing."

His free hand slid between her thighs, and when her legs clamped around his wrist, his grin turned feral. He soaked up every little inch of the woman before him, watching her brows pinch together and lips get nibbled between her teeth. "I thought you'd put up a fight, but maybe you’ve decided to play nice after all."

“But I’m not dealing with reformed, polished Mina anymore, am I?” Slender digits slid into slicked heat and her legs flexed back open, arms staying so politely perched, neatly folded on her chest. But those green eyes hadn’t lost their fire, the neon acid that boiled them in dimmed lighting. 

“I’ve got a pliant, submissive little pet right now.. The toy, already acclimated to me… I got really, really lucky this time, hnh?” A few curls of his fingers inside her and the small, reserved gasps that he earned drew an exaggerated grin across his lips. Each precise movement and mocha thighs twitched in response, pearly teeth biting her lip in silencing. Such good training, such a proper pose. 

Defenseless. Exposed. On her back like a good little bitch.

Her body flinched as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear in slow, clasping kisses. "I’m going to break you, Mina, ruin you," he whispered, his voice a mixture of malice and sickening sweetness.

“Just like I ruined Lukas..” A much more familiar voice spoke to her, green hues clamping shut when he picked up the pace with skilled touch and when she opened her eyes again; the body before her had changed. 

Long black hair, pale skin, cigarette burns across his collarbones and bite-scarring on both sides of his neck. Lukas was now hovering over her, touching her, whispering such awful sweet nothings against her neck. She could smell him, taste his blood on her tongue, feel heat inside her where icy fingers once wiggled. 

“Will you let me ruin you, baby girl?” The mimicked voice asked, trying to stay as close to the character he was portraying in speech and patterns. How cheesy he sounded, the grotesque pet names he preferred. 

Her reality was thinned even more. When lips kissed her so passionately and an arm circled her waist, holding her still for the plight of the opposite hand. Faster, faster until her eyes rolled back and timid moans spilled into their liplock. Her body tensed, thighs fought the urge to clamp down on the movement inside her. 

A warm, wet tongue slid into her mouth and filled her head with the same sugar sweet taste the human did. A tinge of faint cigarettes, the after-taste of tobacco rolled weed, the sour note of liquor and such a sweet, intoxicating flavor. Lips sucked on the tip of her tongue and she arched into the body that held her so closely. 

He stopped his drilling into her, just as climax started to build and she desperately gave a slow grind on his hand. When he broke the kiss, she stared him eye to eye and looked like she’d be panting for breath at any moment; if she still had air in her lungs.

“Tell me what you want, Mina, I can see it on your face.” 

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t her hand reaching between them to grab his cock through pressed slacks. Tugging at the latch of his belt and clawing it open like she couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Isn’t this what you want, Master? Or do you want me to fight? Pretend I can’t take it, like it’ll split me in two no matter what hole you force it in..” The vampiress finally whispered, tone sultry but lower, two or three octaves beneath what had spoken to him a few hours prior. The subtle change that still told him, he was reaching the part inside her he’d only seen through her memories. 

There was no point in trying to lure her with someone from her present. She had no idea who Lukas was, for all he knew, she was seeing Decian regardless. Another strong kiss, a lure to close her eyes and that’s just what he projected himself as. Into her senses, through her vampiric will to obey the pecking order of nature and law. Down the lineage of every vampire's blood inside her. 

When she dared to look at him again, she saw him so clearly now. Blue eyes. Brown hair. And a smile that sent chills down her spine through the ice in her blood. Every little detail, every scar, even a jagged line where she’d torn his head off two lifetimes ago. Her nostrils filled with burnt cedar and pine musk, imported cigars and lingering sex. She tasted salt and blood, leather like she’d just licked across his boots; bile like he’d just had his fingers lodged deep in her throat. 

“Is that fear I’m starting to smell?” Sang purred, tone mocking and prying her open at the seams. His arousal was filling the air, stifling from how much it turned him on to see her panic. He soaked in the feast before him, filling himself full of her impending dread and doom, coiling deeply in the nest of her gut.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it Master? To know I’m terrified,” Mina mumbled in a shaking whisper, as lips that started gently mouthing across her neck, spun her thoughts on their hinges. “But soaking wet.. Just like you taught me to be..” 

“It’s too bad you broke before I could enjoy you, Mina.. But I’m not going to waste the chance this time...” Words puffed against her skin with a rolling heat, washing down her shoulder and down the curve of her arm. A ghosted breath that was entirely misplaced, the sensation confusing her expression and pinching her brows tightly with sudden concern. 

She clamped her eyes shut, pushed hands against the shoulders on top of her, turned rigid as the sensation inside her started to build up again. She couldn’t escape his hold, the movement against her walls, the sudden pierce of fangs against her neck. She felt it again, heat rushing from the parted lips as teeth dug into her artery. The pain couldn’t overcome the hyperfocus of confusion. 

Decian wasn’t alive.

Sang wasn’t alive. 

Vampires don’t breathe.

Humans breathe.

L̴̗͖͒ų̶͂k̴̳̠̓̃a̶̮̾̉s̷̯͈̒̂  ̷̬͚̂b̸͚̓͜ȑ̷̩̬e̶̱͚̎̂a̷̦͚̅ţ̴̊̀ȟ̶̠e̴̡̺͂̚s̴̖̆͘ .̵̝̭͝

.̴̞̜͍͈̯̟͔̹̞̥̗͍͆͆͊́̇̉̆̋̊͒͊͗ͅ.̵̦̘̱͇̘̼̜͔̼̘̀͐̀̅͛̑̐̋̅͋͑̚͠.̸̭̝͉͈̯̅͂̎͆̇̄̐̇̓̔̎͜͠ͅM̷̫̤̳̑̓̅̄̓͘͝i̵̢̩̙̼͎͙͈̒̂́̒̀͐̚͠͝͠n̸̡̨͔̼̞͆̈̈̓͐̇͂́͒̋͊͛̿͝a̴̲͉͎̱̲̤͍̺͐̈́̆͗̏̅̉̈́̉̏͝͝.̸̩̻̞͔͇͗͂̈́̈͒̋̈̾̾͒͗̉͌̕͜.̵̢̫͇̮̳̻̗̳̺͒͊͗̍̍͜ͅ.̵̡̡͓̟̦̲̹̻͖͙̗̣̒̓͆̄̐̊̏̚͘͝͝͝İ̸̺͖͍̰̺̈̈͗͘͘t̸͐͊͑̀́̚͜.̷̧̛͎̫͚̗͓̝̻̜̘͖̤̾̈́͆̇͐̆̏͂̾͝͠ͅ.̶̬̬̪̺̻̈́̑́̉̀̆̚.̷̧̧͕͖̳͍̼͉̮̘̖̅̈̂̆͜h̵̦͕̤̒͑͛̚͘̚u̸̦̞̦͂̐̂͊́́̾̉̐̒͛̄̇͒r̶͙͓͎̩͍͍̞̮̬̼͛͋͐̇͗̊̀̈̀̐͊͜͠t̶̺̘̞͙̩̫̩̼̮̅̓̄̓̎͆̀͊͒̍͋̐̿̈́š̵͎̮͔.̶̧̗̥̫̐͐̍̐̂̂́̓̿͊͋̚͝.̴͈͚̫̰̪̼̏͂̓̕͜.̴̷̨͍͎̠̝̞̞͓͓̉̓͋͑̈̌̏̑͂̈́̒̊̀̄̈̋̏̄̀̋̚͝.̴̢̛̩̮̟̩͉̫̯̥̘̦̂͒̏͛̏̋̇.̸̧͕̣̠͕͛͆̌.̸͍͉͔̦͎͕̲̩̪͔̳̬͐̈̕͜͝Ṕ̶̡͉̖͍̤̖̜̘̻͎̲̤̾̃̇̓̉̀͐̒l̸̰̪̝̒̓̋̀͝ę̶͖̼̱̥̲̲̩̦͉̋̉̌̊̔̽̾̌̅a̶̢͇͕̖̖̟̜̹̯̎ͅs̴̢̛͈̫̲̝̘̝͙͇͉̉̄͛̔͌́̓͗͑̆͝ȩ̸̪̳̝̙̥̙̬̟̺̱͋́́̐̇̈̓̒̊̂͐̽̈̿.̵̮̲͔͖͎͈̈́̍̌͑͆̔.̸̛̘̠̭̰̰̥̽̑̓̓́̕.̴̴̞̮͖̦͖̫̬̘̤̰͖̎̀͝

Mina’s eyes fluttered open, her head pounding with a dull, relentless ache. The world around her was a blinding void of white, the sharp light stabbing into her retinas and making her squint in radiating pain. Her limbs felt heavy, sluggish, each movement weighted by the cold bite of metal chains cuffed to her wrists and ankles.

She blinked, her vision refusing to sharpen as she took in her surroundings. The sterile white room stretched endlessly; its blank, ghostly walls only decorated by the harsh overhead lights that buzzed incessantly. Surgical tools glinted on nearby trays, neatly arranged like an artist’s palette. And in the center of the room, against the far wall, stood a massive blank canvas on an industrial looking easel. Easily over three feet tall, if you measured the blank slate end to end.

Her stomach twisted.

The chains rattled as she shifted, testing their strength and density against her weakened state. They were bolted to the floor, leaving her just enough slack to sit up properly on her backside with her palms to the floor. Her body felt like it was burning and freezing all at once, the silver still coursing through her veins, sapping her strength and leaving her vulnerable. And beneath it all, the hunger gnawed at her, feral and insistent.

The sound of a door sliding open snapped her attention forward; a tall figure stepped into the room, the faint click of polished shoes echoing in the sterile space. Sang.

He wore a white smock, splattered with dried streaks of paint—or was it blood? His grin was a grotesque mockery of warmth as he approached her, his sharp eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. Immediately he could tell how dazed she was, how much she struggled to look at him the closer he got; until his form shadowed the harsh lighting above her.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to think I’d need to shake you awake myself, but I’d hate to disturb the artistic process. I thought I’d just make sure you had some sweet dreams instead...”

Mina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her head pounding and stomach twisting up her spine in tangles. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, instead focusing on the room around her. Every detail mattered—every potential weapon, every possible escape route. It was so blatant, how hard she tried to ignore him.

Sang sauntered toward the surgical tray, his fingers brushing lightly over the gleaming instruments. “I have to admit, Mina, you’ve been a fascinating muse for this little project of mine. I’ve enjoyed how much hope you’ve given Lukas. He put up a hell of a fight for the gallery donations.”

He turned, his grin widening as he gestured to the canvas. “Do you like it? It’s a blank slate, just waiting to be filled, together.”

Mina narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to remain calm. “Is this supposed to scare me?” she asked, her voice hoarse but steady. “And don’t just call your twisted, sycophantic gore-fest a donation like Lukas had any choice!”  

Sang chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Scare you? No, no, my dear, stupid girl.. This isn’t about fear—it’s about art. You see, I’ve always been a patron of the arts, and that dumb, pretty puppy of yours…” He trailed off, his smile twisting into something far more sinister. “Let’s just say he was one of my greatest inspirations.”

Mina’s stomach churned, but she kept her expression neutral and teetered in disgust. “You’re full of shit, I know you feed off of suffering just as much as you do blood..”

Sang’s eyes gleamed with perverse delight, staring towards her with a pique of sudden interest. “Oh, you know?” He laughed, a cruel and hollow sound. “So I don’t need to tell you how much power you give me.. The longer I make you suffer here. All for the sake of art, though, I’m not just a monster, Mina.”

Her throat tightened, the bile rising as her fangs ached against her lips. She wanted to lunge at him, tear that smug grin from his face, but her body betrayed her—weak, poisoned, and chained.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, masking the horror that clawed at her insides. “You’re not just a monster,” she said coldly, her voice a low growl. “You’re a pathetic slave to the beast inside you.” 

Sang smirked, unbothered by the insult and reality she tried to shed light upon. “Perhaps I’m beyond your comprehension of power, Mina… A bit of monstrosity, a little suffering… It’s all part of the process. It’s all bounty for the feasting, it’s all immortal infamy on a renewable source.”

He turned back to the canvas, after his monologue brought him there with idle pace, running a finger down its blank surface. “And now, it’s your turn, Mina. You’ll be my next masterpiece, my next harvest, my fullest meal in millenia. Maybe even my best fuck if you stop trying to think and go back to being a good, faithful little pet to those above you.”

Mina’s mind raced, cataloging every detail in the room. The surgical tools—scalpels, scissors, clamps. The overhead lights, so bright they left faint shadows beneath the tray. The chains, heavy but not unbreakable. At some point, she’d stopped looking and started listening to him rant. He’d confirmed what the documents had said in a simple-minded moment of boasting. All because he thought she wouldn’t store every dialogue for later in case she needed it.

The hunger roared in her veins, sharper now, more insistent. Her body was trying to heal, to push the poison from her system, but it needed blood. Her hands trembled as she clenched them into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She idly rolled sight back to him, jaw set and eyes pulsing color with such desperate hunger.

“Don’t look so grim,” Sang said, turning back to her. “Maybe you’ll survive paying Lukas’ debt back. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even enjoy it. If that scrawny fleshlight of a human is what you want, you’re going to have to earn a piece of my property; and I only take payments in cash, cunt and art.”

Mina held his gaze with fire in the colors of her eyes, her lips curling into a faint, defiant smirk that still held the edges of gritted pain. “So you’ve always had to pay for blood and sex.. But you call me pathetic.” she said, her voice steady despite the searing in her veins. “Actually you just pay money to rape and torment someone, just because you love feeding that diseased, mangey fucking beast inside you.”

Sang’s laughter echoed through the room as he stepped closer, his shadow falling over her.  “Oh—You’re priceless Mina, you’re so stupid it’s almost cute,” he murmured, reaching for one of her cheeks to fondly pinch between his fingers in a demeaning tug. “Almost.”

Sang picked up a scalpel from the closest tray, twirling it between his fingers as he crouched down to her rigid, tense form. The gleaming blade caught the harsh light, flashing like a predator’s grin. He watched her change in expression on the reflection of the steel, the smile on his face a grotesque mix of amusement and malice. The air tinted with arousal as he gave a slow sniff to the air closer and closer to her. Sponging up the scent of fear that started to waft straight from her blood, through her sluggish veins. 

"You know," he began again, his tone almost conversational, "I’ve always wondered what it would be like to work with something truly unique. I think your face would make a lovely canvas—so much expression, so much potential. I can appreciate when something is beautiful, even if it’s on such a mouthy, proud little bitch."

Mina’s stomach twisted, her body tensing as he reached out and cupped her jaw with one cold hand. His thumb pressed against her cheek, tilting her head as though he were appraising a sculpture. He tilted her however he wanted and when she stiffened, he gave a sharp snap in the direction of choice and easily reminded her how quickly he could break her neck. When she gasped, his grin deepened at its corners and he licked over his lips in savoring.

“I could carve it into something timeless, I could make sure you’re pretty forever up on someone's wall…” Sang murmured, his voice soft and deadly; the flattened back of the blade giving a cold drag up her neck and along the curve of her jaw. “A mask, maybe. Something delicate, something someone rich enough could wear to a costume party.”

The scalpel’s blade kissed her skin, icy and unyielding. He pressed it lightly against the apple of her cheek, just enough to tease the surface. "Let’s see how this feels, shall we?"

As he began to draw the blade along her skin, Mina let out a guttural growl. She thrashed as he sliced down the curve of her face and even with his hand around her neck, he couldn’t still her well enough to get a precise cut. With a surge of desperation and rage, she yanked at the chain binding her right arm. Her muscles screamed in protest, but adrenaline and sheer willpower lent her strength. Over and over and over, she pulled and pulled and made her own bones creak with the threat of snapping.

The bolt anchoring her wrist to the floor malformed then split with a loud metallic crack. Sang’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, Mina lashed out. Her claws tore across his face in a vicious, heavy swipe, leaving deep, bloody gashes that carved from his temple to his  opposite jaw. It split the bridge of his nose wide open and blood started to drip then pour from his eye and bisected lid, splattering all over her body and the floor.

Sang staggered back a step, a hiss of fury escaping him as he clamped a hand over his bloodied face in stinging shock. The crimson smeared across his fingers only seemed to enrage him further. By the time he’d lowered his hand, his eyelid was already seaming back shut and the tissue of his nose was regenerating from the inside out. 

“You little bitch,” he growled, his voice low and venomous.

Mina tried to claw at him again, but her weakened body couldn’t keep up, not with how much silver was still coursing through her stiffening muscles. Every movement was excruciating and she knew her reaction time wasn’t even a tenth of his. 

Sang moved with predatory speed, grabbing her wrist and wrenching her arm behind her back with bone-crushing force. He pulled it against her own body, curving it around her ribs until her elbow bent the wrong direction with a popping dislocation. She cried out in pain, but it was garbled into a silent hiss of bubbling saliva in her throat; the chains clattering as he pinned her down with crushing fingers around her neck.

"You’ll regret that," he snarled, his fangs bared in a twisted flare of his lips, seething anger dripping off of every word.

When Mina caught the reflection of something glimmering just out of sight, she didn’t have time to even look away, before he drove the scalpel into her left eye with precision and unrelenting force. He spared no time before twisting it in deeper, giving a small sawing upward before pushing a little further in. Just enough to sever the wires behind the camera. Just enough to show her he wasn’t a pushover.

The pain was blinding, a white-hot explosion that ripped through her skull and seared every nerve. Every tiny movement felt like he was digging in her brain, cutting down her spinal cord and flaring in every pain receptor she contained. Mina’s scream tore from her throat, raw and guttural, as she writhed against the chains. Her free hand mindlessly clawed at the floor, her body arching as the agony consumed her. Her voice turned hoarse, stripped, dried cords tearing from the decibels and skewing as they split from his prior abuse and current anguish.

Sang loomed over her, his expression twisted with sadistic delight. His eyes were blue with electricity and heat, gaze sizzling as he soaked in every little twitch and neurological response. He ran his hand from her neck, down her chest and slowly down her stomach in a petting motion; as if to falsely soothe her. "Oh, that’s a sound I’ll never forget," he purred, leaning closer to watch her anguish.

Blood and fluid seeped from the wound, staining her cheek and dripping onto the already bloodied floor. Her vision in her left eye was gone, replaced by a void of darkness that only amplified her terror. The pain turned her pale, every bit of her shaking in a response beyond her mental control. Her lips hung open, tongue limp as a small mix of foamed saliva and bile seeped down her cheek to crust into her hair.

“You know,” Sang said, his voice maddeningly calm, as if he were comforting a scared animal, instead of lamenting such vile horror towards a cowering victim. “I could’ve cut it out completely. Leave a hollow reminder of how fragile you really are. I bet you’ll never see again if I do it while you’re full of silver, as is you still might be fucked.”

Mina choked on a sob, her pride warring with her survival instincts. She wanted to defy him, to spit in his face and tell him he’d never break her. But the pain was too much, and the threat too real. She felt darkness attempting to cast a vignette on her remaining sight and her ears throbbed with a mock pulse from her infliction. 

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, scratching different pitches with each syllable.

Sang tilted his head, his lips thinning and brows arching with questions like one would a petulant child. “No, what?” he taunted, his tone dripping with mockery.

Mina hesitated, tears mingling with the blood and fluids on her face, some spilling down from the spasming wound. Every word felt like a betrayal of herself, but the scalpel lodged in her was a cruel reminder of her limits. How quickly he reached them. How precise he’d been to make sure she never stood a chance fighting.

“No... please, don’t..” she rasped, her voice shaking with agony and distress.

Sang chuckled, a low and satisfied sound, one that ultimately relished in his current victory. “Now that’s—a good girl,” he murmured, his tone falsely affectionate. He reached out and gently wiped the blood and fluid from her cheek, his touch almost tender despite the brutality of his actions.

Mina flinched, the movement weak and involuntary, as he carefully gripped the scalpel. With deliberate slowness, he pulled the blade from her eye. The sensation sent another wave of white-hot pain through her, and she bit down on her lip until she tasted her own blood to keep from screaming out again. She knew she’d sever her vocal chords; she’d make herself mute if she did.

“There, there,” Sang cooed, his voice feigning mock comfort. “You took it so well, so deep in there, too. I’m impressed, something tells me Decian used every orifice he could, very thoroughly.”

Her body sagged against the messy floor, every ounce of strength drained from her. The darkness in her left eye was absolute, a constant reminder of her new vulnerability. She could barely lift her head as Sang dabbed at her face with a white cloth, cleaning away the blood and fluid with exaggerated care.

“You’re learning,” he said smugly, stepping back to admire his handiwork. She was still a mess of bodily fluids and pain, surrounding herself with a slithering puddle of blackened, sludgy blood. “And because you’ve been such a good girl, I think you deserve some rest.”

Mina didn’t respond, her mind too consumed by pain and the gnawing hunger that clawed at her insides. Her body was trembling, the silver and blood loss leaving her on the brink of collapse.

Sang rolled her head over with the tip of his stained shoe, giving a nudge to make her look up at him. “Don’t worry, Pet. This is only the beginning.” He lamented before turning to slowly leave the room in deafening silence once again.

Mina lay still, her body trembling, the agony in her eye pulsing like a cruel heartbeat. Poisoned blood had clotted down her cheek, warm and sticky all the way to the sterile floor beneath her. The harsh lights above bore into her, making the edges of her remaining vision blur.

Her wrists burned where the chains had rubbed her skin raw. Every shallow movement sent waves of fire through her nerves, but the deeper pain was in her left eye—or rather, the void where her sight had been. The gaping darkness felt like an open wound in her soul, a constant, throbbing reminder of Sang’s cruelty.

The scent of her own blood filled her nostrils, tangy and metallic, feeding the hunger that gnawed at her insides.

Think of something else. Anything else.

Her thoughts drifted, desperate to escape the reality of her broken body. She closed her remaining eye and pictured Lukas.

His face came to her mind’s eye as clearly as if he were standing before her: soft black hair falling messily into green eyes that always seemed to search her face for approval, for affection. She could almost feel the warmth of his hands cupping her cheeks, his thumb brushing away imaginary tears like he did when she looked troubled.

Lukas.

How many times had she found comfort in his arms, his presence steadying her when her own mind threatened to spiral? He’d endured so much—more than anyone should ever have to. Sang had taken him apart, piece by piece, carving away at his body and soul until only fragments remained.

And yet, somehow, he still smiled for her.

Mina’s lip quivered as she pictured his grin, so soft and genuine despite the torment he’d endured. She thought of the way his eyes lit up when she touched him, how he leaned into her every caress as if he were soaking up sunlight after centuries in the dark.

He deserved so much more than this wretched existence. So much more than her.

Her throat tightened, tears burning in her remaining eye. She imagined his arms around her, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back. She could almost hear his voice, a low and comforting murmur as he told her everything would be okay.

But it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay, not while Sang held them both in his clutches.

Her chest hitched as she thought of the scars Sang had left on Lukas—both seen and unseen. How many times had she found him staring blankly into the distance, his hands trembling as he tried to piece himself back together? How many times had she whispered reassurances into his ear, vowing that she would find a way to end this nightmare?

The thought of Sang's twisted grin as he recounted his cruelty made her stomach churn. Her body ached for Lukas, for his touch, his strength, his quiet resilience. She wanted to shield him from it all, to take his pain and make it her own.

And now, as her blood pooled beneath her and her strength drained away, she felt like she’d failed him.

A sharp, searing pain tore through her abdomen, ripping her from her thoughts. She gasped, her hands instinctively moving to the wound Sang had reopened. Her fingers pressed against her stomach, and when she pulled them away, they came back slick with muddy blood.

The scab had torn open, and the bleeding was worse than before, her body taking advantage of the wounds' quick escape for toxic blood. Not realizing it would harm her more to purge the silver out and be left burning on empty. All her system knew was to get it out, any way it could.

Mina’s vision blurred further, the sterile room spinning around her as the hunger roared back with renewed fury. Her fangs ached, her body screaming for sustenance, for strength. But there was none to be had.

Her mind drifted again, desperate to escape the pain. She pictured Lukas holding her, whispering her name like a prayer. She imagined his lips against her temple, his arms wrapped tightly around her as if he could shield her from the world.

But the warmth she imagined was fading, replaced by the cold, unyielding truth. Her body was failing.

The darkness in her left eye seemed to spread, creeping into the edges of her mind. She tried to fight it, to cling to her thoughts of Lukas, of his love, of the way he made her feel whole even in the worst moments.The way he made her feel human, feel as close to life as she’ll ever feel again.

But the blood loss was too much. The pain was too great.

Her body sagged against the chains, her head lolling forward as her strength gave out. The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her was the life dripping steadily from her abdomen, clumping beneath her in a grotesque mockery of helping her wound..

And then everything went black.

-

Woah there! I didn't expect to get to this point but after such a long wait, here we are. Essentially, the main arc has flourished and now; who knows what Mina has gotten herself into. Or maybe, it was already pre-planned all along.

So sorry if the shift in writing is noticeable, I've been away from the keyboard for a long while and instead, been reading quite a bit. I feel rusty, to even myself, so forgive the alterations in flow from the last chapter that was a majority pre-written.

Heeeeavy chapter so you already know the next parts will be story building, if not a small time skip and some hurt comfort mixed in. Good lord do I need comfort after beating up my precious angel.

Thank you as always~ For your time and continuing this story with me.

Until the next one,

The Mayor

Feel free to message to be tagged or removed-

@wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @i-msonotcreative @whumpy-writings

Apologies if I’ve missed anyone.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Story Masterlist] 

(Tags/TW: blood, gore, torture, non-consensual body modifications, threatening, violence, implied noncon, gaslighting, captivity, plot dynamics, vampire whumper, vampire whumpee(s), female whumpee, medical torture, medical neglect)

S a v e  m e.

Y o u  p r o m i s e d. 

S a v e  m e. 

Ş̶͎̯̝̖̗̳̩̥̖̹͕̩̞̐̇̈̇̐̍̊̇̽͠͝ ̸̮͌͌̎̈̇ą̷̡̟̠̙̺̌͐̽͌͒̑͊̃͑̓̀̆͐̃̒͝ ̵̛̲̥̜̰͖̃́͋̐̆̑̀̎͆̄̚͠v̶͈̠̪̉ ̸̛̞̘̯͆͛̈́̄́̅̐̂̑̿͒͘̕͝ë̶̡͕̟͓̜̩̗́̅̉͛̄͜ͅ ̷̹̀́͛̃͐̀̏ ̸̨̨̮̻̼̩̙̝͇̝̩͈͓̤͚̑̾̅̿̋̉̑̅͂̔̚͝ͅM̷̖̗͇̱̝͋ ̷̛̗̇̓͒͑͋̿́͆̊̑̂̈́̆̋͘è̶͖̥̩͖̘͗͒̈́̇̊.̴̢̮̤̰̃̂̈́̆͌ ̶̨̧̻͔̮̖̀̏͗̅͂͛͋͊͒̓̐̊͐͐͛͠͝

“I think I like this, Mina..” A low voice muttered and it sent chills to the tips of her fingers, through the achingly numb nerves in her spine. 

“Is it still painful?” Decian questioned in a soft whisper, almost daring the feigned edge of concern. She knew what he wanted to hear and what he’d say in return. 

“It’s pain I deserve, Master. For being so shameful in your sight.” Numb lips recited, dull, murky green eyes looking at him with trained apprehension. 

Decian took his time, observing Mina, hanging on the wall like a doll on her pedestal. A silver belt had been braced around her midsection, carefully forged with diluted metals so it didn’t burn through her. Just enough, just enough to bind her power and disable her movement. 

Attaching the belt, laid screws that had been drilled into her spine; side by side and fixed in place to create a hanging mount. Currently, it was paired with its wall-secured hook and it held her in place and constant suspension. Cuffs kept her spread in crucifixion posture and they too, fixed with pegs and eye-holes to make sure she couldn’t escape. 

Chilled fingers pressed down the center of her sternum and grazed down her midsection, inciting a wake of ripple to her reaction. She bowed closer, further into the touch. She had to, she knew she had to start with the right attitude.

“Are you ready for your bath? Will you be a good girl?” 

“Yes sir.” 

Mina had learned, there was no fighting. No protesting. No amount of begging, screaming, pleading would ever be easier than just giving up. Giving in and letting him do whatever he wanted, however he pleased. 

It earned less pain. Less torment. Less suffering, if she lived how he wanted her to. Letting go of autonomy, wants, needs and every urge in-between. When she saw herself as an object, a thing, life had become easier. He’d starved her into submission and now, she’d become anything he wanted, if it somehow ended the suffering. 

“Should I drink from you before, or after you’re all tidy?” 

“After, Master. Please drain me after.” 

Before, already meant she wasn’t leaving her hanging post. He’d feed from her, beat her and leave her on the cellar wall for however long he pleased, without a doubt. It happened time and time again, every time she made what pathetic choice she was given. 

After, meant she’d not only endure his pampering but she’d be giving her body to him. Giving into the captivity and letting him use her however he wanted. For pleasure or for pain.

Even as he bathed her so tenderly, washed each part of her with care and spent long hours detangling her hair; nothing brought life back into the vessel that had already let go of the soul inside it. But finally, he had her. 

Exactly, how he wanted her.

He stared at her reflection in a shining steel mirror and even while he sat behind her, tediously combing through ebony tresses, she was silent. Engorged in tension, radiating the scent of fear off the ashen complexion of her skin. 

“You can relax, pet. Master is perfectly happy with you right now.” 

She knew that. That’s why her stomach had hit the floor and scraped along with her every movement. That’s why sitting at his feet, between parted knees, made her uneasy. Within minutes, he’d be touching her. Skin scraping skin, calloused, scarred hands prying her legs open, pinning her arms down when she couldn’t help the urge to fight. The fight she always lost when Decian held no intention to ever let her participate.

He didn’t care. The only thing she could hope for was that he’d get bored of her submission soon enough. Perhaps he’d throw her away. Maybe he’d finally kill her. Anything would be better than time after time, having to listen to his praise and idle threats. 

Mina’s body convulsed in programmed fear, then quickly corrected when he met the side of her neck with warm lips. She forced herself to lean opposite, to give him more space for what she already knew was coming. She had a shred of say, when she just gave in.

“I like that little shiver, Mina.” Decian purred into the slicked hairs against her nape. Every clasp of lips held an edge of fangs, a sharp nip to remind her each moment, his thirst for cruelty was always just around the corner. “Fearful, afraid..” 

“But then you remember how badly you want it,” Another threatening lament, a hand sliding between her legs and she watched them flex open. The smirk on his face, the way he peered at her reflection, over her shoulder, made a single gaze stick in her mind for centuries. 

The look of a monster. 

“You already know, what’s mine is mine..” 

Somewhere in the torment, whatever little doses of pleasure she was given, corrupted her even more. Split her psyche down the middle with contrast, pain, and pleasure. So different, yet one was so vague.. It was addicting. She’d do anything to get the tiniest of relief.

Besides… 

…It wasn’t her.

What’s mine is mine.

What’s yours is mine.

You are mine.

Mine. 

I’m going to keep you forever, and maybe in a few dozen years you’ll realize I am your God now. 

I decide what you feel. What you do. How you feel. When you feed. What you taste, touch, smell, I control everything about you, Mina. 

You belong to me. 

You’re mine.

Taking what’s mine. 

Ruining, soiling, destroying what belongs to me. 

He belongs to me. 

He’s mine.

Get up and fight. 

Fight for what's mine. 

G̸̥͓͈̤̖̣̣̰̥̳̞̟̝̲͓͍̣̼̩̯̳͛͛̅̀̃̚ͅ ̴̨͈͎͖͔̦̥̙̥̥̟̤̫̗̞͇̬̭͚͔̼̦̄͐̆̒́̽͗͒̈͒͛̂̓͒̃̔̚͜ͅͅĘ̴̙̦̜̟̟̜͎͙͙̙̥̮̠̰̱̫͍̲̠̄̎̊̅͌͋̈̚͘̚͜͝ ̴̪̠̲̜̗̰͓̟̫̳̩̱̮͖͇̰̼̽̅̿̈́̒͆Ţ̴̼͚͓̳̜͚̝̦͉̪̫̯͇́̈́̾̓͒̉̈͗̆̚͜  ̵̛̺̭̪̱͕̠̩̗̼̝̩͍̈́̇̀́̀͒̿̃̈́̓̕ͅ ̸̡̼͂̀̇̂̓́͊́̿͑͋̍̅̓͌̎͘̚͠͠Ū̷͔̣̙̤̏́̇̐̊̈͊̀̍̈̀͘̚͜͝ ̷̱̹͇̜̳́̓̚͠P̸̛̮͉̥͕̳͎͙͔̫̺͉͍̳͈͉̦̉̐̀̃́͒̅́̒͒̈̀́͛̂̂̆̋̕̕͘͠͝͝ͅͅ  ̷̡̡̧̧̱̣̟͍͎̰̮̹̗̻̹̤͎̤͇͔̱͎͍̤͂̽̓͑ ̶͕̗̺̳͔͕̃̊͗̐̈́̐͗̓̍̌̎̈́̏͆̒̒̓̾̓̈́̚̚͘͜͠͠Ă̷̢̗̝̣̠̣͖̫̭̋͒͊͛́͋̐̓͊͐̓̒͗̋͊̅̊̐̔͘͘͘ ̵̢̤̝͉̳̗͕̟̩̼̃͑̇̑͛̆̔͆̅̉͒͐͘N̸̛̛͉̾́̄̉̅̍͊͋̂̅͑̌̓̈̂͋̆̔̏͘̕̚̕ ̵̺͔̼͈͉͍̖̙̰̌̉̂́͋͒̓̓͛̿̾͘D̸̢̡̜̟͈̭͎̙̯̪͔̭̪͈͕̖̣̫̫̺͎͔̲̍̍͌́̐̔̉͒̀̇̔̎̚͜͝ͅ  ̷̟̱̥͕̗̫͈̦̅͐̒ ̷̭͖̘̩̙̩̻͇͌̂̽́̓̽̋̈̎̇͂̀͆̚͠F̴̨̡̨͇̬̱̝̜̱͕͉͍̟̲̰̪̻͈̟͈͍̖̒̃̏̔̈́͊́͊̿̑̃̓̈͑͑͘̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅ ̸̩̌̊̓̈́̔̂͋͑̒̑͗̒̚̚͝Ḭ̶̙̺̭̻̮̿̂̋̒́͛̈́̽͛͌̒̅̓̆͆̊̍͛̚͝͝ ̸̧͔͎͇̜̘̥͖̦̝̞̟̘͈̜̟̝̟̗̗̳͚̜̗̔͗̽̎̑͋͌̑̊̊͠G̷̢̡̡̘͚̝͕͙̺̱͖̱͍͔̩̥̭̎̽̄̉͆̒̊̏̉͝ͅͅ ̶̢͉̱͙̟͎̱̲̜̞̻̘̞͇̫̘͗̎̈́̀̃̑̈́̿͒͌̈́̓̒̂͒́̕̚Ḫ̵̛͇̑̿̏̐̃̌̎́̽͗̑͊͐͐̀̽̂͝͝ͅ ̸̧̧̛̯͓͔̙͚̥͉̱̐̌̊̏̌́̀̄͒̎̾̅͂̚͜T̷̡̛̮̭̝̳̰̣̱̬̤̖͕̤̮̬͇͇̺͔͆̚̕ ̶̧̤̠̖̫̯̜͓̦̖̗̻͌̈́͋̊̒ͅ

“Lukas is out of commission, you’ll have to see someone else.” 

“I’m sorry? What do you mean?” Val questioned, having hardly made it through the door before Matilda was already making the news known. 

“You’re one of Lukas’ regulars, right?” She inquired and once given a soft nod, she continued. “He’s on a leave of absence, out of commission for medical care.” 

Such little information and it didn’t sit right. The way she offered up information, the slight edge in her voice the first time she bothered to speak. She was irritated, that alone gave the impression she’d had to explain this more than once already. 

“What happened?” A gentle question as they approached the desk and the woman’s face turned rigid. 

“None of your business,” Matilda huffed, pulling a cigarette from a pack and when she looked up at the vampire again, she was left staring at deep purple rings. She couldn’t look away and soon her features fell slack in trance. 

“It is my business now.” Val spoke in the ever neutral monotone, this time brows edged with a knit together. “Tell me what happened.” 

“The last man to see him mutilated him, tore off his jaw and took pieces with him. Vampire blood is the only thing that kept him alive.” The woman stated factually and entirely out of character, all physical motion paused as a glazed reflection of violet pulsed in her iris. A single gaze from them holding her under mindless control. 

“Tell me where he is.” Another direct order and the old vampire took a key-card off of her neck to hand him. 

“Lukas is in the infirmary downstairs. There’s a service elevator in the maintenance room at the end of the hall, swipe the key card to take you to the basement.”

“I’ll be taking care of him from now on.” 

Val didn’t waste another moment, breaking the staring eye-contact and turning through the double doors as if they were a ghost. The only thing on their mind was Lukas. What state he was in, what Sang had done to him this time. Hopefully, it wasn’t as bad as Val expected but he knew better than to hope there was any mercy left in the monster of a man. 

The directions had been vague but once they entered the elevator, they could already smell him. The scent of his blood, the scent of other viscera as well but they never forgot the taste. The deeply ingrained stain that brought them back, time and time again. 

Bulky, elevator doors slid back on their rails and Val paused just outside them, waiting for their senses to tune in and lead them further down a spacious hall. Every door held a key-card mechanic and the longer they walked, the stronger the scent of mixed blood and decay became. 

In the mingling undertones, he led them closer. Closer to save him, closer to ease the pain that was undoubtedly tearing his mind and body apart. It was so strong by the time they were staring at a door, their mouth watered and throat clenched with expectancy and ache. 

It was too distinguishable to manage much hope for the human inside. There was a large chance they’d be walking in on a corpse and they’d managed to fail him for a third lifetime. 

A quick swipe and the badge unlocked the electronic door, allowing them to push against the mechanism inside the steel barred door. They didn’t know when they’d closed their eyes but they had to open them again to even witness what they’d walked in to reveal. 

Their hearts shattered and tears stung their eyes, as soon as they laid sight on him. 

“What has he done to you..” Val whispered aloud, blind steps taking them closer as they couldn’t stop staring towards what used to be a pretty face.

Bandages were soaked in blood of all shades, thick lines of yellowed infection ringing every outline that wasn’t red. His body didn’t know what to do and Sang lived by no sanitized law; if the wounds didn’t kill him, sepsis would. Right next to his brain. Layers away from penetrating the only piece of him that Sang hadn’t physically mutilated yet. 

A silenced IV pole sat with an alarm that was overdue by hours, said the small digital screen timer. The bag sat dry on its ring and Lukas laid in convulsions, wracking with nerve memory and the agony rippling through every pore of his body. His heart was going off the charts, more alarms, all laid silent under poor care. They were letting him die, after haphazardly giving him a bag of blue-blood and whatever Sang had fed him. 

It wasn’t enough. There was no way it would ever be enough.

A clammy hand slid into a pale one, holding it still as it spasmed and curled in tension. When fingers latched on, the vampire gasped in horror and could hardly contain the surprise of animation. They hadn’t put him in a coma properly and at some point, the pain must have brought him out of it. 

Lukas was awake. Feeling every affecting sting, burn, ache of having bone and tissue rebuild from scratch like a seeded plant. The entire time, the initial pain of infliction radiated until the process was finished. 

Nails dug into their skin and he gripped, blindly, grabbing onto anything that felt like a person. Gurgling, such awful gurgling from a poorly centered tube in his throat that kept his tongue from suffocating him. Wheezes, like a corpse reanimated in a horror film. There was fluid in his lungs, they heard the fine tune crackle behind the awful blubbers of agony. There had to be damage on his voice box, he should have been screaming. 

Val stood silently, as his fingers met blood and made a mess of their hand; they let him do whatever he wanted. They couldn’t manage to do anything but stare. Down at him, at the bandages and sloppy machinery he’d been hooked to, all because Sang wanted to. Wanted to torture, torment, brutalize because he could. Because he liked Lukas in all the worst ways a vampire would like someone. 

A single glance at the monitor that was gauging his heart and it had climbed ten, almost fifteen beats higher. It wouldn’t take much more or much more for him to have a heart attack. The unspeakable amount of agony he had to be in, they didn’t want to imagine. 

They knew they had to. Had to break the promise they’d made to themselves when they’d first met him. Just this once, it had to be okay. 

The same deep purple took hold of their iris and they held onto Lukas’ hand tighter, forcing their way into his mind and into the blood of whatever kindred were inside him. Speaking to each cell, willing it, controlling it to obey whatever words they chose to speak. 

At any time, they could order him to fall in love with them. Order him to refuse hands that weren’t theirs. But what good would it do, when he wouldn’t be loving them himself. 

“You don’t feel it, Lukas..” Val spoke aloud, thumb stroking his hand that was drying with their blood he’d torn from them. They gently sat at the edge of his bed, covering his hand with both of theirs now. “You can’t reach your pain right now.. And you won’t find pain again until you’ve fully healed.” 

The vampire used more of their power this time than they felt they had in centuries, to ensure Lukas didn’t fall back into his misery and pass on. His body was already at its indefinite limits, it was only a matter of time before something couldn’t take the stress anymore. 

“You’ll dream of good things, of happiness..”  Val raised the slowly stilling hand to their lips and kissed across each knuckle, lingering longer and longer as the number ticked down and they ran out of fingers. 

“And when you wake up, you will not crave my blood..” 

An order for his own sake, for the thing they’d withheld from him since they’d met; how angry he’d be for not being able to taste it. The rich, enchanting elixir that stole his life from the get-go. The thing that stole his innocence, his freedom, his sanity, his autonomy and everything in between. 

Violet hues stilled on the monitor that was silently watching him, every few moments his heart-rate dropped and he became more calm. His body relaxed, hand stopped clinging and fell limp in theirs. They did what they had to, they told themselves amid the shame of controlling him. Forcing him to obey their whims like a mindless doll. 

It wasn’t for them. It wasn’t to make him do anything for them, to them, but to keep him alive. To rest his mind, give him peace after he’d suffered not only the injury but hadn’t stopped healing, since. Too much pain, too much pain for a human to physically handle and too much torment to watch him go through. 

Maybe they were selfish after all. 

They stood and circled the humble IV pole, carefully unhooking the bag to inspect it. A tedious slit to the top, between layers of plastic film and a quick slice of nails had bloody fingers dripping in to refill it. With something that would actually help. The strongest substance known to mankind, in its purest form.

Presses to the keypad and the machine started to siphon the collection into him, back through the IV and deeper into his body still. Nourishing, revitalizing, reversing what damage was done. All the while, casting a warm, tingling wake of numbed euphoria from the source and to the tip of every limb. They filled the bag until it was dripping on the dirty tile floor. 

The self-inflicted wound closed along their hand and the filled pouch was returned to its ring. It wouldn’t be a single pint task, to heal all that had been taken from him. In the meantime, a bag of thawing ‘stock’ blood would be their restorative to keep giving.

Val returned to his bedside with the extra IV bag in hand, settling on the edge and immediately; the limp hand reached out again. They took it between theirs, stroked softly along a palm that flexed open and curled around their thumb like a sickly child. 

“I’m right here, you’re going to be okay Lukas..” They soothed, leaning down to pull his hand to their face. 

Even if he couldn’t see, probably couldn’t hear much.. He certainly could still feel. His body and senses tuned in with an intense scramble of information trying to make anything feel right to him.

Clammy fingers blindly searched, found long strands of chocolate hair and when he met their cheek again, Val pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. Tender, lingering and slow. Again and again, until Lukas’ hand fell limp and they were holding it again. He knew, he knew who it was and tiny, strained bubbles of emotion rattled from the mutilated man under sloppy bandages. 

“I’ll take care of you, so just rest, I promise you’ll feel better soon.” When the humans vitals started to elevate again, they knew if he wanted to get anywhere, he needed to rest. 

“Go to sleep and relax, I’ve got you.” Another lavender tinted order, as the weight of his arm increased in their hold. “No one will hurt you while I’m here.” 

-

“Blaire, have you seen Mina? Or Andreia? Neither of them are answering my calls.” Desmond asked in panic, the blonde woman turning on heel and her greeting smile fading once he spoke. 

“No.. I thought you were with them- or setting up, I’m sorry I honestly haven’t been paying enough attention to realize they weren’t here..” Concern thinned her voice and his face crunched more with worry. “Did they leave?” 

“I don’t know, I haven’t been out to the parking lot but I’ve checked everywhere in the gallery. Can you call them? See if they answer for you.” Desmond flicked through his phone, gazing at the climbing number of outgoing calls to both women. 

“Yeah, yeah I can do that, go see if your car is still here and if it’s not we’ll drive out to the house.” 

Fifteen minutes later, that was just what they ended up doing. Blaire excused herself and left another manager in charge for what she’d assumed would be minutes. A quick drive across a few blocks and as they pulled into the driveway, Desmond saw the reflection of their vehicle cooling on the lot. 

“I’ll be right back, maybe they just came back to feed-” 

“Take your time, I’ll wait to see if someone needs a ride.” 

Desmond sprinted out of the car and as soon as he entered the house and closed the door behind him, he was bewildered to see Andreia sitting on the couch and changed into pajamas. Make-up smeared, hair tossed into a messy bun and she didn’t bother to look away from the television when he walked into the scene. 

“Andreia, what the hell? Where’s Mina? What are you doing back here? The event isn’t over until two!”

“If you just came here to scold me, you can go back to the gallery and let your girlfriend entertain you.” Brittle words from the female and when she finally looked at him, she met an angry expression and yet the stark contrast of her husband seemed to hold no weight. 

“What the fuck is wrong, Andreia? What kind of comment is that? Why are you being like this?!” He stormed closer but leveled in a crouch once he got to her blanket covered form, looking her in the eyes and watching her turn away. 

“I don’t want to talk about it- just go back to the gallery with Mina and tell Blaire she can fire me but I’m not coming back.” Andi huffed, eyes already watering as she diverted her attention to anything other than his face. 

“That’s the problem, Andreia, if Mina isn’t with you, and she isn’t at the gallery; I need you to tell me what happened because I can’t find her anywhere!” 

“She probably went back to that fucking whore house then Desmond! Where she is ALL THE TIME. Where she lives when she’s not working!” 

“You sound like a child right now, do you realize that?” 

“Fuck you, I don’t need your psychological doctor shit right now-” Andreia shoved her blanket to the side and as she started to get up, a firm hand grabbed her wrist and forced her back into a sitting position. 

He grabbed onto both wrists when she started pushing against his shoulder and digging nails into his hand, watching a frustrated face flare lips at him in struggle. 

“Put away your goddamned pride right now and look at the bigger fucking picture, Andreia! If Mina isn’t at the gallery, isn’t here, I doubt she’d go to the club when Lukas is dying on a fucking table!” Desmond rationalized, tone getting harsher and harsher until she was left staring at him in surprise. Tears automatically spilled from their held stance and gaze pinching in emotion as she finally let out a cry. 

“I left her in the parking lot! I don’t know! I told her to get out of the car if she was going to pick Lukas over me and I drove off!” The hands around her wrists left in frustrated movement and Desmond was standing in a split second and grabbing her purse off the coffee table to rifle for their keys. 

“I can’t believe you’d say that to someone you’ve spent so long building up, Andi, honestly I’m pretty disgusted with you right now.” He announced in a quiet monotone, looking at her for a moment before shaking his head in defeat. 

“I’m going back to the gallery to see if I can find her and you’re going to the blood club to look.” A toss of the keys and Andreia flinched when they smacked into her shoulder and he was already out the door. 

She had no choice, but to face the reality of her selfishness now. Staring her in the face and being shredded before her eyes. 

Disgusted.

-

Hello! I bet this is the last thing you expected to see after such a long time but here is an update. 2023 and 2024 were the most agonizingly irl whumpy experiences of my life but it ended in comfort and fluff just like the stories!

Long story short I left a relationship, entered one, gained a husband and moved 2k miles to start over and build a happily ever after. Due to the changes, everything else got put on the back burner but I'm now hoping to return to some whump content creating, which I truly love the most. Not to mention I have a flock of angsty children to look after that have long suffered neglect. So sorry precious, it will definitely happen again, I'm just built like this.

Anyways, enjoy.

As always, thanks for your time and for allowing me to craft this tale for us.~ It’s a pleasure.

Feel free to ask to be tagged or removed-

@wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @i-msonotcreative @whumpy-writings

Apologies if I’ve missed anyone or included someone that didn’t ask. ; ;

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

City Update - 8/22/23

Hey! Long time no see friends, I hope everyone has been well. To make things short, no, this blog is not abandoned. Much to my dismay personal life has been sucking the inspiration clean off my wee bones.

I still love what I do, love to hear from you all and if you'd like to tag me in any posts of your work, I'll go through and re-blog them as a feed to keep things active!

#thecitythatdoesntsleep or @thecitythatdoesntsleep for a reblog/repost or to be included in the next queue line up!

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Brain: Broken tables, shattered glass, destroyed surroundings to place the chaos. The chaos inside their un-beating hearts.

Me: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUT. THE. PLOT?!?!?!?!?!?!

I have never related more and I fully accept the blame and curses LOL (And the thanks! thank you so much for enjoying the content dear!)

Trying to write my vampire story be like:

My brain: pomegranate seeds held in an open palm, dripping juice dark as blood.

Me: okay, cool.

My brain: hunger as a metaphor for love and longing.

Me: yes, but...

My brain: open-mouthed kisses pressed to delicate, broken skin

Me: brain, please—

My brain: sacrilege everywhere; all the religious motifs being deliberately placed alongside longing and lust and love. Humans making a sacrament of their own blood to their vampire lover.

Me: BRAIN! I need a PLOTLINE, not just vibes!!!

My brain: ...

Me: ...

My brain: ...

My brain: ...

My brain: ...

My brain: drops of blood like pomegranate seeds, drawing parallels to Persephone's descent to the underworld

Me: *flips table*

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Mmm, you get it. You GET how delicious that just desserts punishment is.

The clandestine pitfall to that dazed anger, however, it's beautiful. Every time Whumpee dares to smart off, every pause Whumper takes to catch their own breath from the sheer exertion of their swings. Just as angry- if not angrier - that Whumpee still has some bite left in them.

Even if it's just as little as a held back whimper, a teeth gritting groan, biting their lips to blood to refuse Whumper any further satisfaction. Any more insight on how much it's effecting them until they can't do it anymore. Until the weakness is too much, pain too strong. Even holding back tears is no use, their eyes are stinging, ears thumping their pulse in varying awareness. It's deafening but so is Whumper's panting breath.

The menacing scowl, the look of rage, but adoration for what they've unleashed and bestowed on Whumpee. Almost like an art project they'd ruined, but found a twisted fondness in recovering into a real piece of work. Their piece of work. Sometimes, it isn't just Whumpee that catches their eye, but the bruises they've left.

The drool on their lower lip, the corner of their mouth. The tears that frustrate them for falling, when their body can't take anymore. All personal touches, handiwork, marks of ingraining submission that fades; but leaves a lasting statement.

Do. Not. Test. Me.

(Hope you don't mind the addition but you awakened something in me and I'm soaring on whumperflies and dopamine! Thank you Queen!)

i just love love love a whumper brutally beating the defiance out of their their whumpee—

perhaps it’s only temporary, once their head stops spinning they’ll go back to spitting and cursing at whumper…. but whumper just beats the daylights out of them until theyre dazed and growling and angry— whumpee’s spitting words giving way to more and more absolutely humiliating sounds as whumper beats them into the ground again and again and —

eventually, there’s just this sound—halfway between a choked gasp and a strangled groan

and whumper finally stops to listen to whumpee’s panted breaths, to wipe the strands of hair from their forehead, to admire how red whumpee’s cheeks have gotten from the embarrassment and whumper’s hand striking them over and over mere moments ago

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Dialogue prompts for female whumper and male whumpee? NSFT/W please?

(TW: dirty talk, explicit dialogue, implied gagging, implied torture, multiple whumpers, blood, manipulation, gaslighting)

"Awh, my pretty boy just can't do anything right can he? I believe I told him, not to fucking cum.. so now he's getting punished."

"So big and strong, just to get turned into my living dildo... It's almost a shame you let it happen like this."

"On your back, spread your legs, you haven't earned your Mistress' warmth tonight."

"Don't hold your breath, pet, you'll tense too much for me to push it inside you."

"Oh I know you're close, but if you cum now I'll tie that little cock up and you won't get to cum for the rest of the week.."

"If you don't want it stepped on, you'll work a little faster at getting hard."

"You're lying Whumpee, but your body is pretty honest with me. You might be scared but you're still rock hard."

"You can't stop drooling now, can you? That toy is vibrating so hard I can still hear it rattling inside you.."

"If I let you out of that cage, you'd better crawl over here and let me grind against that pretty face.."

"I thought you'd try to fight but you've missed me, haven't you? Get on your knees and prove it, pet and I'll indulge you."

"P-Please Mistress... I n-need to cum.." "Oh do you? I don't think you've earned it."

"C-Can I ride it now Mistress? P-Please, I want to move.." "You'd better keep that position, this is a punishment after all."

"N-Not there... I-I've never-... N-Not inside..." "You? A virgin? Surely you can't be serious Whumpee... If you're good though, I'll be gentle on the off chance you are."

"Look at you, so hard you're dripping all over the floor..." "I'm sorry..!" "You'll be really sorry if you let yourself cum from your punishment. How many lashes were we on, pet? I'm afraid I've lost count."

"You made the mess, now clean it up." "You'd better lick every drop of cum off my floor or you're getting the whip."

"N-No! Whumpee c-can't be fucked by anyone but M-Mistress!" Whumper #1: "Who do you think let us in here with you, slut?" Whumper #2: "Your Mistress said we could play with you as much as we want." Whumpee: "N-No! She wouldn't do that! W-Whumpee's body is only for h-her!"

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Part 9

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

(Tags/TW: Implied: post-torture, broken bones, bloodloss, consensual intimacy (whumpee x caretaker), demonic possession, demonic torment, royal whump, fantasy whump, vampire whump, Prince!whumpee, servant!caretaker, psychic/gifted caretaker, paranormal elements)

...

There was no energy left inside the Prince when the demon left him hollow again. 

He was hopelessly drained, worn, from what he’d just been forced to do to the human that had done nothing but care for him. They’d tended to his every need, even those he refused to admit he had. He’d been held, comforted, they gave him what he needed most. 

And in the end... 

He’d left them in a bloodied heap. 

Honey hair was black and matted from crimson, skin speckled with purples and blues and he knew their arm wasn’t meant to bend like it was. They were quiet, still. They had been for a long time and it angered their demonic assailant more. But they were on to something, when they confidently declared they knew the demon wouldn’t kill them. 

No. They were far too valuable to it’s plan to manifest the dimensions as it pleased. 

Even when the vampire had long collapsed onto dirty stone flooring, could only manage to shift through thoughts; he felt like dread had become a monster and swallowed him whole. His stilled heart ached, fingers spasmed in reflex from how much the demon had burnt through the blood he’d freshly consumed. He felt stiff, like he’d shatter if he tried to move a single inch. 

So little of it mattered, when he was straining to hear past his ringing ears to see if they were still breathing. 

In all of his years, he couldn’t remember the last time he scraped against the floor and bloodied his fingers to try to get closer to them. Nails cracked in his rakes, tips split and bruised but he made it, inch by inch. 

Nothing meant anything, anymore. Not his crown, the castle they were in, the apron he’d ripped off of them in the chaotic struggle. The heart that flowed life when his stood still; the beats inside their chest were the only thing that calmed him. 

They were alive. He could hear that much from where he now laid beside them. 

When lids finally fluttered, the human came alive with jolts of agony; pain rattling out of them as if the mute button had come undone. The prince flinched back and cracking, whining sobs choked up the human on the ground. The sudden influx of sensation was crippling, like they’d been dunked in scalding water all at once. 

Where their bones were broken, where skin had blackened with blood underneath it, there was radiating, sharp bolts of electricity. 

It hurt. It hurt so badly they couldn't see for a long gap, felt stress take their sight like when they were a youth. They struggled to breathe, body shook with tremors and it took all they had to stifle their cries.

They didn’t want to make him feel worse, hear just how much damage he’d done to them but they were delirious with pain in an instant. They couldn’t think, couldn’t manage to reel themselves in or even pretend to. He’d done a number on them and the closer he got, the more their body pushed away on instinct beyond their control. 

Even they couldn’t help flinching back from him, after what he’d just subjected them to. The demon was right, had been right all along, that he’d break every last stitch of hope the Prince had left. 

“I-I’m sorry-” He whispered from dry, straining cords, unable to tell if they could hear him over their own sobs. 

“I-I should have done more-” A lamentation that was possibly too late to even have weight anymore; as he’d paused in defeat and stilled in his slumped position on the ground. 

The Prince could tell, the trembling human was doing their best to bring themselves down. Trying to stop their overwhelming emotional outburst before it made them even sicker, to conserve for the sake of everyone involved. 

“You need to drink my blood..” He spoke aloud, “Please, t-there’s nothing else I can offer you, it’s okay if you can’t see them..” 

“N-No.. I-I can’t..” Such a broken, pitiful voice from the human and he scraped closer. 

“Please.. I-I did something- I can hear it..” He pleaded, reaching out to cover their hand with his own, giving a small squeeze. 

The demon had feasted on them too much, thrown them, tossed them with his inhuman strength. There were holes somewhere, against their lungs from a fracture. He could hear it draining and bubbling in when they breathed. They’d drown if they wouldn’t drink. 

They were so weak, fighting for every inhale and just barely looking at him with bruised, swollen eyes. He wanted to cry, wanted to beg and plead to them.. but the Prince knew now wasn’t the time for either. 

At least this time, he’d come back to his senses before he’d completely killed them. 

He didn’t try to beg anymore, instead he forced his weak muscles up, drug himself off the ground beside them. He scooted closer, grit his teeth in how much pain his body had extended. Even when they shrank back in blossoming tension, he reached for them anyways.

They cried out, posed a small struggle when he collected them into his arms but once they were cradled against him, staring up, they fell limp in surrender.

The air around him was blue, mucked deeply with wisps of black and purple. He was sad. It was really him, back in ownership of his actions.

They had promised. Tried to promise him that they wouldn't fear him, wouldn't associate his actions with that of his aggressor. It was even easier to do so, when they saw silent rivers of tears smearing blood down his face.

How many times had he done this?

When they met eyes and he watched the human's swirl with a prism of color, timid, shaking fingers met their cheek in a gentle caress. They flinched against their will but pressed deeper into the chilled palm with the warm, bruised slope of their jaw.

"Please... Don't make me lose you, too." A sullen plead from undead lips and he lowered his head to rest against theirs. "I don't care about anything else... This Kingdom can fall to ash, if it means you'll make it."

He never stopped looking at them, watching every strained rise and fall. When they whimpered in duress, he startled in alert but felt the heavy slump of their hand against his head.

It drew a flustered sob and the Prince muffled it against his wrist, used throbbing fangs to grind deeply into his skin and drill into the still rushing vein.

Still... He offered. Held the limb close but didn't press it to their lips. Even in a deadly moment, he treated them differently than all the rest had. That's why they let their hand fall to his and covered the wound with warm, split lips.

Another wake of tears dripped off his chin and with a few strong mouthfuls, he was the only one left trembling in pain and worry.

The look of relief was the first thing to place something other than sadness into his chest. The way their eyes lidded, hazed with relaxation. They gripped with more strength but their hold relaxed. He'd long forgotten what it was like to be fed from, even by a meagerly imbibing human.

A soft pull against skin, how much they licked in comparison to piercing fangs. They were conscious, never met his flesh with teeth and that was the most stark difference between his kind, and theirs.

When they moved away, it was for a panting breath and it ran chills up his arm where their saliva still cooled his languid warmth. He'd been looking at them with more intensity, hadn't noticed he'd calmed from the sensation of someone drinking from him.

They exchanged long gazes and his thumb idly caressed the back of the arm in his grip, the other still lying limply in place for their feast. Fingers gave a small twitch of sensation when the human returned for seconds, gave a stronger pull and each swallow made their color change.

Bruises vanished from the hollows of their eyes and warmth tinted their skin once more. Their heart pumped stronger, each inhale a little deeper and at last, they spasmed with a cough after their final swallow.

The Prince tilted them as they wracked, soothed over their back in comforting sweeps. When blood left their lungs and hit the muddied stone flooring, his shoulders fell in relief. They had healed enough to expel it and had the strength to turn back over by themselves.

"Is the pain less..?" He asked aloud, pushing stringy, crusted hair off their face when they looked back towards him.

“I-It’s less..” They muttered. “It’s almost gone..” 

He watched them closely, counted each breath as if it were his own and finally, they caught eyes once more. The Prince looked worn, still wore smears of their blood and pain across his pallid skin. 

“Can I take you to get cleaned up?” He asked in a somber tone, hand gently forming to their cheek as they closed their lids and pressed into it. They still felt so warm under his fingertips. 

“I-I can do it- You don’t h-have to care for me Prince..” They argued and his lips thinned into a sullen line. 

“Please.. let me clean up the mess I’ve made.” He begged, in such a broken sounding tone, one they’d only heard him plead to the demons with. He couldn’t look at them anymore, he was bathing himself in shame. 

They already knew, he needed to pay for what he’d done. In his mind, he’d built a debt he owed them and tending to their state, was just coins to his mountain of self-hared. If it would help ease his guilt, allow him to cleanse the grief from his fingers; they couldn’t ever deny him now, not as their head buzzed so warmly in his presence. 

“You can do what you’d like, majesty..” The human whispered, reaching for a hand that laid against them to tenderly take in their own. He startled to attention and stared at their interlaced fingers as if he didn’t believe they were there. 

It took a long moment but the Prince made it off the ground, arms keeping them upright. He adjusted them in his grip and took slow but sure steps as he regained strength in his weakened muscles. 

The rooms changed around them, the brick turned back into woods and polished stone the closer they got to his quarters. Deeper through the castle, until they made it to the bathroom and he was able to lower them into carved marble. He’d turned to light the stove but they caught his arm, pulled it back towards them in sudden fear. 

“D-Don’t leave..” The human pleaded themselves and his brows pinched in their corners. 

He’d never faced a human that dared cling closer to him, after he’d just spent the night tormenting them. As his own body still ached from the power put into harming them and after he’d wounded them fatally and barely used his blood to reverse it. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.. I’m just going to warm some water.” He soothed, covering their shaking hand with his own. 

They felt foolish, shameful, latching on like a needy child but the thought had scared him, that’d he’d merely leave them to themselves. When they let go, they sat in silence, chastised themselves in their headspace. Hands to their lap, folded as if he’d scolded them. 

Patience took the Prince through crafting a fire in a burning box, working until flames peeked through the sides and rushed heat through the pipes. He’d silently ghosted around in the meantime, gathered glass bottles and cloths to clean them. 

“I-I’m hot..” The human mumbled in a soft voice, brows pinched with distress and cheeks flushed, all the way to their ears. 

“I’m sorry, it’s my blood.. it’s healing you but you’ll feel strange in the meantime.” 

Strange wasn’t even the half of it. Their worst fear had come to fruition, they couldn’t seen any other realms or spaces. Any demons, any spirits, passing entities or ghosts. They just saw him. 

And boy, from their position, dazed and laying in the cool basin; he looked beautiful. Hair as dark as the shadows that tried to claim him, eyes burning, passionate with the blood he needed, craved. So worn, so, so worn and haunted by what he’d just done, how to fix it. And entirely, wholeheartedly, fixated on them. 

“Can you...” The Prince paused, meeting eyes with the battered human and watching their gaze swirl in their head. Opalescent eyes calmed to a single color and cheeks flushed with heat and his personal poision. There was no way they could tend to anything for themselves right now, his question was pointless. 

What thoughts might be running through their head as he towered over them, looming, about to strip them further to try and clean the dirt off of them, he’d put there by hand. 

“I need to get these off of you..” The Prince spoke softly, voice long returning to a sullen whisper after the demon had left his body. 

“I’m yours Prince... do as you wish.” A repetitious reminder and while it was meant to comfort his actions, it burnt more shame into the doings entirely. Even if they meant it, earnestly, it would never stop forming an ache in the pit of his chest. 

He was getting tired of being served. Of being in charge. Of ruling lives, land, servants. 

“You know you’re free, right..?” The Prince idly spoke, starting to work shaking fingers down the buttons of their shirt. “You can leave, whenever you want. I’m not holding you here.” 

“...Are you kicking me out..?” They asked in confusion and panic took over his features when they reached out for his sleeve in desperation. “P-Please Prince- I-I have no where to go...” 

“N-No! Of course not- No, I just-...” He paused, meeting gazes with the innocent human and feeling another surge of emotion in his chest. They were crying, crying at the idea of being thrown out of a castle he’d just killed them in. If not for his blood, if not for their acceptance of it.. They would have long perished. 

“...Surely the streets have to be safer when you’re living with a monster..” Tepid fingers reached for a wet cheek and a calloused thumb swiped over its curve. 

As always, the human curled deeper into his hand, pushed into it with something akin to yearning. Begging. They were almost begging, as they looked up at him, still bloody and still so pitifully frail. 

Just how he’d left them. 

“...T-This is my home, Prince..” They mumbled shamelessly, on bruised lips that were slowly discoloring and fading back to their normal plush pink. “..Please don’t take it away from me..” 

Please, please don’t take him!!

Anything but him!! Take me instead!! Please!! 

Prince!!

You’ll pay for that, you damned leech!!

What if I pry those fangs out? Split that nasty jaw in two, what then beast?!

Guts hangin’ out and you’re still snapping for blood.. Guess that’s the power of a noble..

The General says he’ll make him forget.. Do whatever you want to’em. Only chance we’ll ever get to ruin a fresh faced Prince like him..

“...P-Prince..?” “Prince!” 

When the vampire lost his trance, the doe-eyed human was left gaping up at him, face mirroring concern from the long gap of time he’d lost. A minute, two minutes, almost three from the time he’d first breached the memory until he was back to staring them down. 

He flinched, when they reached up and cupped clammy cheeks with still-stained hands. They returned the gesture, found tears that had pushed out of his corners and wiped them away with the same sweet tenderness. Human. The kind of tenderness that only humans ever managed to contain. 

Even drunk on his blood, obsessed with his presence, beaten, maimed by the same figure; same hands, same vampire. They were so achingly careful, gentle with him, like he was the fragile one.

The Prince didn’t realize, how much his expression, demeanor changed as he looked at them. Deep into their eyes, occasionally down towards their lips, closer and closer. They’d adjusted in their concern of his flashbacks, sat up to meet him; now they were so, so temptingly close. 

Please, don’t say anything.. I’ll never have the self control, if you say what you always say.. 

Please, Please, Please...

“I’ll remind your Majesty...” Gods be damned, don’t say it...

“I’m... entirely his... to do with as he pleases.” 

The Prince was strong. Resolute. Iron-willed. He’d fought in two wars with the bravest alliances in the eleven kingdoms. He’d been cursed with a demon and withstood it longer than any man alive. He’d been tormented, tortured, forced to kill at the will of another. He’d watched every brick in his kingdom get turned upside down. He’d seen his life’s work fall to ruins. He’d watched loved ones die from his hand and drained their body dry the moment after. 

But his greatest weakness, was pulling him closer without even realizing it. 

Such a gentle touch that it almost felt invisible, but the pulse of warmth it left behind, living, breathing; it was unmistakable. The breath, the rise and fall, how soft they took each inhale. What wonderful, sweet noises they could make in such reckless delight. Pleasure they deserved and had probably never been allowed to feel for themselves. 

His mind was rotted, with such a simple string of words. Words they’d chosen, words they knew held different meanings every time they’d said it. First, for comfort. Second, for feeding. Now... now they were offering him more, even more of themselves than he’d already forcefully taken. 

He wasn’t worthy. He’d never be worthy, when they still wore his handprints and fissures in their bones from his strength. The same strength it took to keep himself from making them think this was all he’d been waiting for all along. 

“...You can’t say that to me..” The Prince breathed, forehead coming to idly rest against theirs when they bridged their staring gap and pushed themselves boldly closer. “...The last time you did.. I drank and then I attacked you.” 

“I-I don’t think that will be an issue, Prince..” The mimicked the same low tone, unable to pull away from the close, fiery set of eyes that held them pinned. 

“What makes you say that..? I could have just killed you-” 

“Harming me.. Your Majesty.. Is the furthest thing on your mind right now, I think..” They couldn’t help the verbal poke, as they took a risk and adjusted their arms, nearly encircling his neck. “And I’d like to remind you, Prince..” 

Gods be damned... 

Forgive me, for tainting them...

“That I’m yours, your highness... to do with, as you please...” 

-

Tags: @wolfeyedwitch @i-msonotcreative @moss-tombstone

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

500 posts!

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Whumpy Vampire Imagines - Whumpee's

Gosh, do I love vampires in whump? Lemme tell you. Here's a cookie and a beanbag.

Vampires make the perfect Whumpee's based on what lore you prefer. If they're traditionally immortal and restorative based on blood level... They. Make. Perfect. Whumpee's.

No matter what Whumper wants to do to them, they'll always recover. They heal so fast, some injuries don't even last longer than what it takes to inflict them.

Whumper can cause endless pain and torment, however, and whenever they please. As long as they have some blood, they can reverse it and start fresh.

Vampire Whumpees are essentially 0 maintenance. No food, no real need for water. Just blood. Even if they go without it, they just get easier to deal with from blood paralysis. (In my lore bloodloss = eventual paralysis back to corpse syndrome)

If Whumper forgets about them or wants to punish them, they can just leave them. This works so well if Whumper has established neediness in their vampire. Training them beforehand to be used to interaction, engagement, and supervision until the lack thereof is damaging. Easy to do with blood, too.

Whumper can whip them until their arm is sore and Whumpee will feel every split but the slice only lasts long enough to well red to the surface. Whumpee's body heals as the tail of the whip lifts off their skin in the wake. Oh but it hurts the same, it still feels just as damaging as it would for a human but they can take it over and over and over again. Until ideally, it breaks them.

No matter what excruciating punishment, no matter how extreme Whumper gets; it can all be fixed. (Psychological results may vary.)

And the best part? They live forever. A life of pain, of being enslaved, of being passed from owner to owner or Master to Master. Years to train them, craft their personalities, and bend their will until they're whatever Whumper desires.

A perfect pet, a perfectly trained guard dog; built for long nights and endurance. Stamina beyond all means when well fed or submissive and starving without blood.

Their skin is so sensitive to hot and cold, touch or graze, but the pain always lingers just a little longer as it heals. Every injury bears its full weight as time ticks to repair the body. Broken limbs feel the sting of shatter until mended, and skin severed burns until it regenerates and grows back.

The best of them learn how things go, and let themselves be crafted. Let go of whatever they were, whatever they knew and it's easier for them sometimes. Some of them get lucky, and lived good lavished lives. Some are treasured pets, some won as trophies of war; others are passed hand to hand for currency like land or housing.

Whumpees can even be made, turned, and wiped like a clean slate.

Whumper has a forever toy, a plaything that they can get rough with and still leave a lasting effect. Break them entirely, make them cower in submission. Everything is up to Whumper and what they want.

Entirely up to Whumper.

What they drink, how they live, and what they taste or feel. How much they suffer, how free they are, everything depends on what Whumper wants or feels that day.

The perfect Whumpee to last them a lifetime.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Whumpy Vampire Imagines - Caretakers

Vampires are such terribly wonderful creatures for endless whump.

Having to drink blood, hurt people to survive when all the Caretakers want to do is provide and nurture. Having a naturally violent nature inside them that when they starve, they're a threat, a danger to their loved ones. Which means they have no choice but to cause pain.

The guilt that eats at them, every time bloodshed happens for their sanity, their health. No matter how much Whumpee tells them they understand, they don't hate them for it, they never quite believe them.

How could Whumpee not hate them? They're a monster, a monster that has to painfully drink something out of them for their own selfish benefit.

So they live in turmoil and try to do whatever they can to make up for it. Make up for existing, make up for harming Whumpee whether they have a choice or not. They have to be better than what they do to survive. So they serve, give, care for whatever and whomever lets them. They live by raw, aching guilt and the need to pay a hidden life-debt of being what they are. Living in the afterlife.

It haunts them, tears them up inside and so little can convince them that they aren't a leech, preying upon the living for lust and power.

Whumpee tries so hard, does whatever they can to try to prove it to them. They fear touch so much but they think Caretaker fears touching them, more. So they incite it, force themselves closer and encourage Caretaker to indulge in their warmth and blood and closeness.

Maybe they've feared another vampires bite but this one, they can't help but ask for even when they're shaking and can't fight back tears. They'll cry harder if Caretaker stops.

Whumpee can feel the tension rise, the heat, how timid Caretaker's touch becomes and for a moment they think they can hear a deafened heartbeat; a small panting clinging to their undead lips. They'll never ask, never ever give way to what the beast wants when it's fed, when ruby is blurring the lines and getting them drunk with chemical thick euphoria.

Whumpee knows. When they first offer their body, themselves to Caretaker, they hear their heart stop a second time in their life. They burn with more shame, more guilt, more despair at what they are and what they feel. Whumpee offers again and they both fall silent.

Caretaker could never. Never indulge the fire, the passion, not when they knew their bite did such awful things to humans. Made them feel addictive euphoria, after such a harsh rush of pain. They'll avoid Whumpee, when they're afraid of what they might do if they linger.

They know it comes off so cruel, every time they feed and leave them in a cold bed, a dark room, by themselves. After gorging on their blood like an animal and forcing them to feel pleasure they never asked for.

Such a cruel existence, for someone that just wants to see Whumpee happy, healthy and loved for all they are. They adore Whumpee, place them on such a high pedestal and kneel at their feet in dutiful service. Even if Whumpee cares for them, loves them, they can't quite fathom it or ever accept it for what it is.

There's no way, anyone could ever love a monster.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

"Take this," Whumper ordered, pushing a tablet between Whumpee's teeth.

"W-What is it-!" They coughed, fingers shoving the pill past their tongue and sliding it down their throat with two slicked digits.

Whumper covered their lips with a flat palm and watched the horror leak into their eyes, tears welling off lashes and spilling down reddened cheeks.

"You'll find out, don't worry."

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

"Was it worth it, Whumpee?" Whumper asked, lifting Whumpee's chin with the edge of their sword.

"Was what worth it?" Whumpee questioned in a hoarse whisper, eyes burning with the last energy they had for hatred.

"Letting a hundred of your men die for you, when you know I always get what I want." Whumper mocked, an amused chuckle tapering off the edges of their cocky smirk.

"Your Majesty is a joke... And a murderer."

"I'm not!" They spat, jerking away from the blade without fear and turning away from Whumper's pinning, scrutinizing stare.

"You knew I wouldn't stop until I had you and yet, you still hid behind them."

"I-I thought we'd defeat you- I-I was sure of it!"

"I told you once before, I'd slaughter an army to take back what's rightfully mine."

"You're a monster!" Whumpee snapped, breaking into trembling sobs.

"And you're mine."

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Have I ever mentioned how much I love touch-starved, brain-washed Whumpee's?

Sit down, here's a blanket, prepare for a story.

I absolutely LOVE when Whumpee's take whatever Whumper gives them and still has sparkles in their eyes. Still craves Whumper's praise, looks forward to the lightest hand in their hair or on their head.

Breathless, panting, bruised lips and cheeks and blacked eyes but they shiver when Whumper cups their face with warm hands. When Whumper pushes back bangs to look at teary eyes that are oh so trained on their every move; they shiver.

Whumpee begs for whatever Whumper wants. Whatever will make them happy, especially if it has something to do with them. If Whumpee can make Whumper happy, with their body, their pain, their agony; it's all worth it.

If they wont be punished for it, they ask a meek, "D-Did I do good, Master?" or merely look at Whumper with a pleading face. Begging, silently, for some kind of physical reassurance they're doing well.

And Whumper has them wrapped around their finger.

The slightest praise and Whumpee is delighted, considering whatever punishment Whumper just gave them entirely worth it. And if Whumper is feeling extra kind (or cruel) they can lay it on thick before the next punishment.

Give them a single night of reprieve.

The way that they'll soak up every touch of kindness. Every time Whumper doesn't hurt them and instead, takes care of them. Even if it's selfish, because they'll die or get sick if they don't get treatment.

Even if it's humiliating, they'll be so happy if Whumper is content with what they do. They'll eat food out of their hand, drink whatever is offered to them; if it means they get more praise.

It's like drugs to them and they're beyond addicted. Perfect, mindless little toys if their Master is patient enough. They'll beg for the whip, count every line that splits their skin, if it means their Master will tend to their wounds and tell them how beautiful their pain looks on them.

They'll rub against Whumper's leg with a bruised cheek, get bright eyes when their leash comes out. Anything that means they get to spend time with Whumper, doing something to please them.

Whumpee holds back their tears, takes what they're given and begs for forgiveness and pardon when they black out from pain. The first thing on their mind when they come to, is what Whumper wants them to do. If they're doing good enough for Whumper to be happy with them.

As long as it means they're getting praise and coveted touch, they're content with their new life.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

[Link to Picrew] [Lukas' Story / Story Masterlist]

These picrews are too good, I can't help myself. Poor little Lulu, shouldn't look so good all bloody and bruised.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

[Click Here for the Picrew] [Lukas' story / Story Masterlist]

I saw a post with this maker and you already know our sweet Lulu was the first on the chopping block. Bless him.

Probably pretty early into his 'contract' at the club and still unused to how things go. But don't worry, Val's already been tending to him by now. Bringing him bandages and a little hope to go a long way.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

WHUMPERS BRANDING THEIR WHUMPEE SO THAT THEY ALWAYS HAVE TO LIVE WITH THEM ONE WAY OR ANOTHER >>>>>>>>

You're speaking a love language here, stop it!

The branding?

Whumpee being forced to hold still, tied to their chair or bent over a table. Restrained, helpless as they beg and plead for anything else.

They don't want to wear Whumper's name, their insignia, anything bonding them to Whumper. They writhe, wiggle, hurt themselves with their binds.

OR... Maybe they aren't bound at all. Fear keeps them there. They stay in one place and they don't say a word. Whumper has promised to do much, much worse if they move and mess up the seal.

They watch the poker, the brand, the red-hot metal about to touch their skin and every move Whumper makes. It's like they're asserting the last shred of dominance they have left.

Then, the pain comes.

It's searing, it radiates well beyond the burning skin and it forces out tears and garbled screams of agony. They can't help but writhe, jerk, move somehow as everything inside them urges them to try to escape. Escape the branding that no matter what, they'll never manage to truly cover.

It could be tattoos, scarification, a favorite wound Whumper liked to punish them with. No matter what form it takes on, it's very permanent and it's a vivid reminder.

Whumper stares them down, dares them not to move, maybe makes it worse if they do. Punished by sitting still and punished more for not sitting still. It might take a time or two, Whumper hasn't done it in a while and Whumpee just can't stop their shaking, terrified sobs.

It makes Whumpee nauseous, how much pain rushes endorphins into their system to cope with what just happened to them. As skin bubbles and ripples under a menacingly heavy, metal weight. Their scream is so loud it cuts off, they go hoarse almost as soon as it touches them. A guttural shriek that dies in blubbering tears and drool sliding down the corners of their parted lips.

Even after they're freed and away from Whumper. Even if Whumper can never hurt them again, every time they look in the mirror, they see it. Something that makes them never truly forget their experiences. How much Whumper caused their suffering and how much Whumper owned them.

They cover it, bandage it, do whatever they can to hide it behind clothing. Long sleeves that give them heat-stroke in the summer, multiple layers in the winter to conceal whatever atrocity hides beneath.

Even Caretaker is reminded that once upon a time, Whumpee wasn't being cared for. They were being tortured. In the way they hide the mark, cover themselves, tingle with pain in the elements like it still burns and stings.

The first time they give Whumpee a bath, they hide it with their hands if they are able. A cloth, something to keep Caretaker from seeing it. Maybe they're too weak so they fill with bitter shame instead, begging, pleading Caretaker not to look at something so ugly, so disgusting.

Maybe Whumpee hides it for as long as they can. Dodging help, bandages, cleaning from Caretaker in order to keep from exposing their most painful secret. They can't stand it touched, looked at, seen under the light because it reminds them of how they once lost all autonomy and earned such a coveted mark of ownership.

They'll never feel good about themselves, never be comfortable in their skin because it belongs to Whumper and always will. Every glance, every exposure to the mirror and they can't help but well up in tears and remembrance.

Branded. Owned. Kept. Property.

Whumper's Property.

TLDR: wow branding is a great trope. totally never thought much about it until this exact moment. /sweats profusely in liar/