whumpworld

[whumpworld]

The child of god turned in human weapon (Kai & Kyriel) - Masterlist

0. Synopsis

Whumpee (Kai) is a winged hero born with the powers of an ancient angel with whom Whumper (Kyriel, angel himself) is obsessed with. In order to possess said powers Kyriel chases Kai all his life, from childhood to adolescence, up until the point of murdering him and bringing him back to life as an undead servant, his human weapon, in order to ensure his absolute compliance. Years later, after having served as Kyriel’s prince and monster, Kai escapes with the help of Caretaker (Ashe, love interest), who never gave up on him. After years on the run, Kai masters his powers as a free man and chooses to use them to stand up to Kyriel, who in the meantime has wrecked havoc on the land of men. That is until Ashe disappears one day, pregnant with Kai’s child, and Kai finds a single note on her pillow:

“Playtime is over. Come home.”

Contains: captivity whump, angel whump, royal whump, fantasy whump, human weapon whumpee, twisted care-whumper, defiant and genuinely good whumpee, brutal public whump and intimate whump behind closed doors, corruption arc, buckets of angst, a lot of pain and blood, and coercion and slavery (what good is a human weapon for if you can’t use them?). Necromancy and death, and survival in the face of helplessness, are also big themes.

NB: contains explicit NSFW not appropriate for minors. The story can still be followed if you skip the explicit NSFW chapters, as I will summarise them before the next, but there will be non-con mentions and threats thorough.

I. Recapture

Chapter I (capture)

Chapter II (broken promises)

Chapter III (‘try it’)

Chapter IV (BTHB - forced to watch)

Chapter V (BTHB - backhand slap)

Chapter VI (BTHB - defeated and trophified)

Chapter VII (BTHB - whipping)

Chapter VIII (BTHB - bridal carry)

Chapter IX (BTHB - lured into a trap)

Chapter X (BTHB - chained to a bed) (NSFW)

Chapter XI (BTHB - rape/non-con) (Explicit NSFW)

Chapter XII (aftermath) (NSFW)

II. Torture

Chapter XIII (BTHB collared and chained + NSFW)

Chapter XIV (explicit NSFW)

Chapter XV (fault)

Chapter XVI (BTHB conditioning)

Chapter XVII (BTHB branding + NSFW)

Chapter XVIII (surrender)

Chapter XIX (BTHB buried alive)

III. Captivity

Coming soon

Other (mostly short) snippets in the same universe:

Snippets set up during Kai’s first captivity. Blanket TW minor whumpee for all pieces listed here!

“No pain, no gains” (Merry Whump of May Day 1)

“Did I do good?” (Whumptember2023 day 1)

Hiding in a closet (Whumptember2023 day 3)

Ashe and Kai’s snippets, escape arch before recapture (main chaptered storyline above). Kai is between 17 and 25 years old here

Kai and Ashe on the run (poisoned)

Kai and Ashe on the battlefield (Whumptember2023 day 2)

Snippets set up in the future (possible spoilers captivity arch?!)

“What are you doing to them?” (Whumptember2023 day 10)

“I didn’t do this” (Whumptember2023 day 6)

“What do you want me to do?” (Whumptember2023 day 5)

“Don’t come back” - Mr Mittens (Whumptember2023 day 8)

Kai gets a win (Drabble set really far into the future)

Asks about this story:

Lore | Kai’s fave food | Kai’s age | Characters’ ask bc cute

Art: Kai | Ashe | Kyriel (with Kai, but this is what we have atm - here is a picrew?) | Kai & Ashe together

Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @flowersarefreetherapy @sunshiline-writes @enigmawritesstuff

[whumpworld]

🪢 and 🦷

For anyone you want

Medical restraints + bite down on this

-

CW: Fantasy creature, restrained, gagged, intimate whumper, nonsexual nudity, dehumanizing language, use of 'boy' but only because the Captain's in his forties and thinks everyone younger than 25 is a boy

-

"Well, how is he?" The ship's captain stuck his head into the small room that was more or less what passed for a surgery. The smell as always made him wrinkle his nose, but a little blood and viscera never hurt anyone. Well, unless it was coming out of them. Still.

He stopped short in the doorway, staring with shock at the sight that awaited him.

The tall, lithe young man they had found floating on a bit of broken wood lay stretched out on the large table the captain had had bolted down to the floor when he took over the ship. Tanned skin was a handsome warm brown, the lad well-enough-formed, if your tastes ran that way. A blanket had been draped over him started at the waist, offering some small modesty. His hair had dried into unruly black curls, crusted with salt.

His face was stunning. To the captain it seemed too lovely, almost womanly, softness instead of hard angles. Had a man ever been so beautiful?

But what stopped him was not the young man's beauty, but the ropes tied tightly keeping the young man's hands behind his back, and the bit of polished wood forced between his teeth and tied behind his head. The young man gnawed in it, yanking at his bonds.

When he saw the captain, he froze - and then his eyes went wide and startled, sweetly soft and pleading. The brown of them was darker than his skin, not quite black. Eyes made to drown in. The young man hummed, trying to form words.

"My God, Wentworth, what have you done?"

"What I had to, for my own safety. Oi, stop that!" The ship's surgeon - who acted also as a barber and butcher the times they caught or bought anything of decent size - smacked the lad hard enough to bounce the boy's head off the table. The captain blinked, feeling suddenly as if cold water had washed down his spine. The lad grunted, twisting to glare up at Wentworth, hissing around the wooden bar between his teeth.

"Better. Stay silent or I'll cut out your tongue."

"Wentworth!"

"May need to, captain." The surgeon looked up, pushing a small pair of wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose. He wore a heavy apron like a blacksmith, although his was stained and smeared with blood old and new, not with soot. "For starters, Captain, it's not a he."

"What? When my men picked him up, he was naked as the dawn itself and they were quite certain as to his sex organs, Wentworth. They were indeed the focus of quite a bit of conversation and... gesturing, during their reports."

"Mmmn. You've got a point. I guess I should say, it's not a human he." The surgeon sighed, patting the lad on his flank through the blanket. The boy jerked away from the touch. "Captain, we didn't find a shipwreck survivor, sir, we found what caused the ship to wreck."

The captain paused. He took in the sight of the lad all over again - his unearthly beauty, twisted with inhuman rage, the way his teeth around the gag seemed just a little too sharply pointed. "... what are you saying, Wentworth?"

The surgeon turned away, rummaging through a large bag he kept off to one side, next to a dried brownish stain that had been in the wood since long before Wentworth had even taken the job. He turned back, holding a length of cord in his hands. He made quick work of the knots he needed. "I'll show you. And you'll see why I had to gag it."

When he slid the loop in the cord over the lad's head, the boy struggled with sudden ferocity, fighting his bonds. The rope creaked, but it held. The lad hissed again, and earned himself a hard crack upside the head from Wentworth's hand. Once the loop had settled around his neck, there was a long silence, the lad's deep brown eyes focused on the surgeon with seething hate.

The lad didn't seem to understand the cord or what purpose it served - once it hadn't caused immediate pain, he settled down, although his teeth still gnawed with fury at the gag that kept them from biting. Confusion flickered, a terribly human expression. Wentworth began to undo the knot tying the gag on behind the lad's head.

"You'll want to be out of arm's reach, Captain, sir," Wentworth said, and the captain indeed moved back just outside the doorway. Wentworth was never a man to exaggerate the danger of a thing. If he said space was needed, the captain believed him.

Wentworth, too, took a sudden shift back away as soon as the gag fell from the young man's mouth. The lad hesitated, eyes darting from one to the other, then began to struggle with his bonds again. The knots were too well done for freedom - Wentworth had been quite the expert on them during his time with the Royal Navy - and all they did was tighten further, until the lad hissed in pain and the captain saw bright red blood smearing the boy's wrists, soaking into the coarse fibers.

"Wentworth-" He started, but his surgeon shook his head, holding up one finger. Wait.

The boy swallowed, thinking. The corners of his mouth were reddened from the gag. He looked almost debauched, this way, laid out naked and bound. He was like a creature from myth, Ganymede abducted by Zeus, and it only enhanced his beauty. The boy hummed, softly. As if testing the sound.

To the captain's surprise, the lad began, in a voice soft and mournful, to sing.

"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more... men were deceivers ever... one foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant, never..."

It was the most beautiful sound that the Captain had ever heard. The boy's voice was high and clear, twining tenor notes into a sweet sorrow that wrenched at the captain's heart and made him think of the ladies he had loved, in his life, two dead and one left behind.

No boy who could sing like this should ever be so bound.

He took a step closer, watching the young man's face. Everything else in the world was a haze by comparison. Those brown eyes met his, no longer flashing fire and fury but instead soft and warm, promising kisses and adoration beyond compare.

"Then sigh not so," The boy sang, watching the captain as he took one step closer and then another. "But let them go, and be you blithe and bonny... converting all your sounds of woe into hey, nonny nonny... sing no more ditties, sing no more, no dumps so dull and heavy..."

If he would only untie the lad and set him free, the captain knew with perfect certainty, the boy would cover him with kisses and they could swim together in the sea.

"The fraud of men was ever so since summer first was leavy... then sigh not so, but let them go..."

He was nearly close enough. He reached a hand out to touch the young man's face, inhaling sharply at the perfect smooth warmth of his skin.

The boy turned his face to press his mouth against the captain's hand, sending shivers up his spine as the final notes were slightly muffled, but still sure and true.

"And be you blithe and bonny... converting all your sounds of woe..."

The captain leaned over, reaching for the knots that kept the boy's hands tied so tightly. His fingertips just brushed one.

"Into hey nonny, non-"

The creature jerked backwards and away all at once with a sudden undignified squawk, yanked off the table. He fell with a sickening thud to the floor below, gasping and choking as the surgeon pulled the slipknot tight enough around his neck to steal his air.

The haze around the captain faded, and he blinked as the last firm notes seemed still to ring inside his mind. Then he shuddered, backing with terror up to the doorway. "Wentworth!"

"Aye, Captain." The surgeon held onto the cord, shoving one booted foot against the boy's - the thing's - side to hold him down and keeping the cord pulled right so the thing could not breathe enough to sing again. Wentworth pulled earplugs out of one side and then the other. "Sorry. Easier for you to hear it than to just believe what'd sound like a madman's ravings. I doubt we even hear it sing the same song. This is magic, is what this is. Real magic and true, like in the tales of serpents and mermaids. But you see now, aye, Captain? It isn't human. And no mermaid, either."

"I believe you, Wentworth. I dare say not human in the least." The captain's fingers twitched in an old urge to cross himself, but he had left the priesthood and the Catholic faith behind a long, long time ago. "It is a demon!"

"A siren, more like."

The captain frowned. "We are nowhere near the Sirenum Scopuli."

"Men wander through the world, why not sirens?"

He had no argument against that. "Fair enough, Wentworth."

"Besides, I think we ain't the first to pick him up. Bettin' the wreckage we saw came about because this one-" He yanked on the cord again, and the thing on the floor gasped, flopping like a fish out of water indeed. "-played sad some survivor and sang a ship onto rocks to get himself and his friends some dinner. And he planned the same for us."

"... aye." The captain watched Wentworth jam the wooden gag back between the creature's teeth as it fought him, twisting like a wild animal... which of course it was. And it would have had him free it, no doubt spelled the whole ship with its wretched-

Beautiful, perfect, lovely-

-voice, and led them to their deaths as well. The thing was forced back up onto the table, naked now as the blanket had fallen away. It was perfectly formed to echo a man from head to toe, with shapely muscles, hard angles and soft curves in equal measure.

A lie from the Devil to tempt the less than innocent to damnation.

The captain swallowed and raised his chin, looking at the thing as it glared with baleful loathing right back at him. All softness gone, if indeed it had ever had any to begin with.

The captain's lip pulled back in a sneer. "Kill it, Wentworth. We are near to shore."

He turned and left without waiting for the order to be acknowledged.

Wentworth exhaled once the captain had left, running a hand up and down the siren's side. It hissed, but when it tried to get away from him, he jerked on the cord until it choked. Over and over, until it finally went still, shaking beneath his touch. Fear finally overcoming its animal hate.

"Ssssshhhh," Wentworth whispered, leaning down so his lips moved against its salt-tipped hair. "Ssssshhhh. Don't you worry, beautiful thing. No death for you, not today. We are going on shore together."

The thing understood nothing, he knew that. It echoed and mimiced men but knew nothing of the meaning behind the sounds. But that didn't matter.

"I will take you to shore, and take you home. Quit the work here, set up in the city." He tickled his fingers idly over its ribs until it shuddered in disgust and twisted away. Then he choked it again, this time waiting and waiting, watching its face redden and then pale, eyes wide and bright, gnashing with helpless terror against the gag. After a while, its eyes fluttered closed, and it went limp, slumping back against his chest.

He sighed happily, letting the loop go slack now.

"There we go. Let's pack you in a box." He patted the unconscious creature on the head, tying the cord to a hook in the wall he usually hung his tool bag on. If it woke, it couldn't move without choking again.

He stopped in the doorway to look back at the beautiful creature that had nearly killed them all. He smiled, fondly.

"You," he announced, "are going to make me filthy rich."

[whumpworld]

I love when Whumpers inspect their Whumpees

Grabbing their chin, tilting their head back and forth

Circling Whumpee like a predator stalking prey

Forcing them to strip so Whumper can see every inch

Running their hand along Whumpee's skin, up their spine, splaying their fingers over Whumpee's ribs

Whumpee doesn't know what they're looking for, if they're searching for anything at all

Maybe Whumper just wants to see Whumpee vulnerable, amusing themselves with the fear in Whumpee's eyes

Maybe Whumper really is searching for a flaw, ready to punish Whumpee after, but refusing to say what they did wrong

Maybe there's nothing wrong, they just want to pretend there is. Keep Whumpee on their toes. Sometimes they'll "pass" and sometimes they won't

Maybe Whumpee is being sold and doesn't know it. Whumper is inspecting their goods, calculating the price, what to offer, what to bid, etc

I love when Whumpers inspect their Whumpees

[whumpworld]

Welcome to the teaser trailer for the magic AU that has taken over my brain for the last 2 days. This is just the first section of the (#)+1 fic going on here, but I hope you enjoy and stay tuned for the rest! It doesn't have a title just yet, but I looking and taking suggestions :)

thank you so much for reading ♥️

~*~*~

The knock on the door wasn’t unusual, but the hour was. 

Carlos finished filling his mug with coffee, blinking sleepily and willing the sound to be imagined. He stretched and rocked his neck side to side, rolling his shoulders as he pushed off the counter and wandered towards the couch. He’d just reached the cushions when another knock rattled the door. His heart dropped. He pushed his glasses up off his nose to rub his eyes, then turned towards the door. 

He was good at what he did. His services were more and more in demand, especially after the influencer video vouching for his spell saving her marriage. He could expect a knock at the door once a day. Everything from the simple — confidence, calming tinctures — to the complex — adoration, desire, luck — to the confounding — a tea to settle a fussy baby or the bubbling delight to overcome a family dinner. 

Each was a problem to work through. A different puzzle to pick apart and solve. Carlos liked what he did. He liked helping people, even if their expectations were astronomical.

But seven in the morning was stretching even his bottomless politeness.

Carlos wondered when he’d eventually find the bottom, but it wasn’t going to be that morning. He wrenched the door open — sweatpants slung low on his hips, coffee mug in one hand, glasses smudged and sliding down his nose — and was face to face with the prettiest man he’d seen in a long while. 

“H-Hi, hey.” He had the saddest expression for someone so beautiful. Clear ivy green eyes made brighter for their red rims and damp lashes. Soft-looking, artfully tousled brown hair, and the creamy expanse of neck dead ending in a well-loved hoodie. He seemed nervous, a shell pink flush rising to his cheeks as he took in Carlos. “Are you Reyes? The, um, the um—.”

“Witch?” Carlos supplied blandly. It wasn’t the word he used, but it worked in a pinch. He covered a yawn with his mug, eyes watering. When he shook it off, the stranger was still staring at him. He stuck his hand out. “Carlos. What can I do for you?”

“Oh. TK, um-.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, rubbed the back of his neck. He winced when he realized, hand snapping away to tuck into a pocket. “Sorry. I’ve never done this before. Kind of, you know, out of my depth here—?”

Carlos held up a hand, cutting him off. “I hear that a lot. I don’t judge whoever comes here. What sort of help are you looking for?”

“A love spell,”

Carlos’ eyebrows rose. “A love spell?”

The man - TK — nodded earnestly, finally looking hopeful. “I need one. For my boyfriend. We’ve been together for three years and—.”

“I don’t do love spells,” Carlos said.

“What?” TK’s face fell, that sadness welling up again. “B-but the video—.”

“The woman who made the video got it wrong,” Carlos said gently. “I didn’t make her a love spell, and I don’t make anything used on someone else.” He took a sip of his coffee, leaning against the doorframe. “If you come to me, you have to be willing to take it yourself. No trickery, no dosing someone without their consent.”

“Oh.” TK winced. “Shit, that. That sounds bad.” He took a breath and stepped back, away from the door. Looking for an escape, looking for a way out, a way to have not been here in the first place. “I’ll just-. Sorry to bother you, or waste your time, I—.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help you.” Carlos pushed up off the doorframe and gestured inside; to his living room, his privacy, his quiet morning to himself. “If you want to, come in and tell me the problem. I’ll tell you what I can do for you.”

TK took a stilted step forward, hesitating before fully crossing the threshold. Carlos watched him waver as he closed the door behind them. The man clearly wasn’t going to make up his mind until Carlos made it for him. He was nervous, skittish, gun shy in a way that felt mismatched with everything else about him. He looked uncomfortable with being uncomfortable — someone who was used to swagger and ease, but had a rug pulled out from under him.

Mug in hand, Carlos stepped up into him and gestured to the living room. “Can I get you coffee?”

TK looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Carlos said easily. “Sit. Please. Coffee?”

“Yes. Please.” TK watched him walk around the kitchen counter before settling onto the edge of the sofa. “I, um. I didn’t get any before I left.”

Carlos pulled down a mug and filled it. “That much of a rush?”

“It’s been gnawing at me all night.”

Carlos hummed, setting the percolator back on the stove. “Care to tell me?”

TK shifted, still uncertain. Carlos, for his part, wished the man hadn’t been in a rush — at least then he could sit in front of him, clean and pressed instead of thin sweatpants and tee shirt. He resisted the urge to try flattening his curls with his fingers — it would only make them worse — as he passed the man his cup.

“Milk or sugar?”

“No. Thanks.” TK took the mug in both hands, cupping it reverently. “First responder. Never know if there’s time to doctor it all up, so I gave up trying.”

As Carlos sat back in an armchair — best to give the man room — he let a small smile crack his features watching him inhale the steam. It was the happiest he’d looked the whole time he’d been there; seemingly the most relaxed too. If he looked beautiful on the verge of tears, TK was only more striking in comfort. Carlos sipped his own coffee, patiently waiting and wondering what it’d be like to have someone look at him the same way this stranger on his couch looked about Italian dark roast. 

He turned sheepish when TK caught him looking. He deflected. “Take your time.”

“I don’t want to take up your time.”

“You’re not.” Carlos exhaled, finding he believed the words as he said them. “It’s pretty sensitive, isn’t it?”

TK nodded. “There’s a lot mixed in with it all too.”

“I’ve got all morning.” Truthfully, Carlos had all day, but saying so feel like tempting fate. He sat upright, squaring his shoulders like he did in interview rooms — not enough to be intimidating, but just enough of a wash that TK knew he was paying attention. “You said boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah. We’ve been together for three years, this past March actually.” TK took a long drink, then cleared his throat. “I moved to Austin for work, and he came with me. And it was good for a while, but we’re at arms length for months now. Like even our anniversary dinner was kind of…” He trailed off, looking guilty.

“How long have you been in Austin?” Carlos asked, putting them back on settled ground.

“Eight months, ish?”

“Where’d you move in from?”

“New York City.”

“Quite a change,” Carlos said. That was all he said. He didn’t need to know this man’s business, not yet. He already knew what he’d give TK for this growing-apart problem of his; a sure fire remedy that didn’t require anything more taxing than putting a syrup into some seltzer.

“It is. Total one-eighty,” TK sighed. He pushed a hand through his hair, rumpling it more. “It’s been better for me — better work, better people, a lot of just better stuff. It feels selfish, but it’s true. I just feel like I asked too much of him.”

Carlos studied him, choosing his words. “Did you ask him to move with you?”

TK shook his head. “I thought we were going to break up then and there. He’s the one that asked if I’d like the company.”

“Did you want him to?”

“Of course,” TK said quickly, no thought to it at all. Instinctive and earnest, without a shred of defensiveness; Carlos could almost taste the sweetness at the edges of it. “He’s everything to me. I just…” TK took another drink and huffed. “I don’t want to lose everything we had because of me. We were happy when we got here, and I think we still are. I am, and I want him to be.”

Carlos nodded, then stood and wandered barefoot back over to his kitchen. It was muscle memory, pulling out a bowl and a wooden spoon, moving methodically through his cabinets and the window box of herbs over the sink. He could feel those sharp green eyes on him the whole way. “Is there anything you’re allergic to?”

“No.”

“Any medications you’re on?”

“Nothing.”

Carlos nodded. He stripped mint stems of their leaves, dropping them unceremoniously into the bowl alongside dried hibiscus and rose petals. A little bit of sugar for grit, then Carlos began crushing the mix together, until it all that green, magenta, and shell pink was as fine as the sugar. When he looked up, reached for the jar of honey Tia Lucy had given him the week before, he found TK leaning against the counter with his mug, watching him work.

Carlos smiled, adding a fat dollop of honey to the bowl. “This is totally unfamiliar to you, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” TK said, half shrugging. “I knew people who went to shops in the Bronx, gave me a ton of recommendations, but I never did.”

“Non-believer?”

“Didn’t think I needed it.” TK licked his lips, watching Carlos’ hands. “I won’t stand here and say I’ve never looked for a boost elsewhere, but this isn’t where I’d go. Before.”

“And now?” Carlos raised an eyebrow.

“Now?” TK let out a slow breath as his pressed his teeth into his bottom lip. “Now. What the hell, why not.”

Carlos chuckled, stepping over to a curio case that doubled as his liquor cabinet. Careful with the glass doors and antique brass pulls — it was his bis abuela’s, his mother liked to remind him every time she darkened the door. ��� Carlos popped the cabinet open, trailing his fingers over the bottles inside. He wrapped his hand around the neck of a bottle of mezcal anejo. The moment he stepped away, TK shifted — that discomfort coming back immediately. 

“Is-.” He stumbled over his words, fingers dancing on the sides of the porcelain. “Is that, um, necessary?”

Carlos studied him. He wasn’t looking at nerves right then, but the thin threads of fear. “Not strictly speaking. It makes the effects more potent, but no, it isn’t necessary.”

“Could you make it without?” TK asked.

“I can, no problem.” Carlos replaced the bottle, closed the cabinet and stepped back over to the counter top. He pulled a bottle of purified water from the refrigerator, emptied it into the countertop kettle he kept for tea. “Water works just as well.”

“So magic is just craft cocktails and tea?” TK asked, voice weak with the need to be positive.

“In a manner of speaking.” Carlos counted to seven in his head as his folded the mint and petals back into the honey. When the water boiled, he added measured spoonfuls to thin the mixture, then found a small, cleaned jam jar to pour it in. “Modern tastes make the practices seem a lot more fantastical. It’s a lot less overcomplicated, and more effective, when the social media affection is taken off it.”

TK laughed, his smile easing. “So all that crystal stuff is mumbo jumbo?”

“I couldn’t say,” Carlos replied, capping the jar. “It isn’t my practice.”

“What is?”

“The things my mother, aunt, and grandmother taught me. An academic who interviewed my sister once called it folkways.” Carlos snickered to himself. “Funny word for a little brujería isn’t it?”

“If you say so.” TK palmed the jar, holding it up like a gem to the morning sunlight. “So. Walk me through this.”

“That is a syrup made of honey, mint, hibiscus, and rose,” Carlos explained. “Stir that into some hot water, seltzer, or still. Not coffee or tea.”

“What about mineral water?” TK blinked at him.

“Should be fine,” Carlos waved it off. “But, drink it before he gets home from work. Give it at least an hour to settle in. Take a deep breath and clear your head with every sip.”

“What’s it supposed to do? Should I, you know, feel  anything?”

Carlos shook his head. “Not especially. Maybe a little energy from the sugar, but that’s all.” Carlos leaned forward onto the counter, trying to look as comforting as possible, trying to ignore how unkempt he felt, how pretty those green eyes were when they landed on his own. It was hard, but he’d done harder things. “It’ll come through you. When he walks through that door, he’ll see you exactly how you want him to. Happy, there for him, in love with him.”

TK flushed pink. “Good guess.”

“Not even.” Carlos smirked. “You banged down my front door at seven in the morning and asked for a love spell.”

“Doesn’t take a detective to put that together.”

“I doesn’t, and I’d know. Trust me.”

TK stood there a moment longer, weighing the still warm jar in his hand. The red around his eyes had calmed. His face no longer had a pinched, worried look to it. The coffee was nearly gone, just a small puddle in the very bottom of the mug. He flashed Carlos a smile that felt rare. “Thank you. For this.”

“You’re welcome,” Carlos said with a single nod. He pushed himself back up to full height, going for the percolator. “You want any more, or–?”

“I should go. Don’t want to keep you, errands, you know the deal.” TK stepped back from the counter. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

TK squinted. “Nothing?”

Carlos nodded. “Nothing. I don’t charge.”

“Is this a ‘the first hit is free’ thing? Because–.”

“Nothing like that. I just don’t take payment.”

TK looked nearly offended in his disbelief. “But, the woman–.”

“I asked her for a little money because she wanted to film me. I asked she keep my face and voice out of it.” Carlos topped his own mug off. “That’s all. For anyone else, just like you, who’s looking for a little help?” Carlos shook his head. “No charge.”

“No charge,” TK repeated.

“No charge.” Carlos inhaled, taking a sip and stuffing his hand in his sweatpants pocket. “If it doesn’t work, come back. We’ll try again.”

TK left in less of a rush than he’d arrived. Carlos leaned against the open front door, watching him climb into a car and drive off. As the early morning summer heat wrapped around his ankles like a housecat, Carlos couldn’t help but hope his tried and true remedy would fail. Or, at the very least, falter. It was selfish, perhaps, to want to see those green eyes again, but he wouldn’t lie to himself about that want. 

He’d ask for forgiveness later, maybe say an ave Maria or two for good measure. Or just to say he did.

[whumpworld]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Prompts and starters A collaboration with @wormwriting

[Prompt Masterpost]

“How much did you hear?”

Whumpee crouched and trying to stay quiet until they can slip away. Then the cool barrel of a gun pressing against the back of their head. Bonus for ~click~

“You know what happens now, right?”

Whumpee stumbling home, breath ragged and body in shock still. They stare at the liquor bottle - and without thinking, uncap it and start downing as much fire as they can stand. They don’t want to remember what they just saw. For everyone’s sake. 

Whumper shoving a bottle against Whumpee’s chest. “You’re going to want to forget that. I’ll check back in tomorrow to make sure you did.” 

Walked into the wrong bar at the wrong time - now they’re a vampire’s lunch.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who fucked up everything. Now I need to clean up your mess.”

The shaky hand Whumpee presses to their mouth to try to stifle their echoing breaths. Eyes squeezed shut so hard that they might press the memory of what they saw out of their mind.

“How’s about you and me go for a little walk, hm?”

“Sorry kid - boss said no loose ends.”

Whumpee stepping around the corner to see people and blood and heads slowly turning toward them. Seeing them seeing what just happened. Seeing the blood. Seeing them seeing the blood. Whumpee slooooooowwwwwly steps back, eyes stricken with horror-

“Can’t talk without a tongue, right?”

Whumpee driving in the middle of nowhere - how were they supposed to know it would be fifty miles to the nearest gas station? At least they can cal-......they don’t have signal either…

Whumpee flinching at each echoing footstep, tucking further back into their hiding spot. “I know you’re theeeeerrreeeee~ Come out come ouuuut~”

“You know this isn’t personal, right?”

And escaped whumpee bumping into Whumper completely randomly years later. The  s t a r e. Aaaaaaand run-

“What are you so scared for? I don’t gotta kill you~”

“Wh-y me?” “You were the easiest to grab.”

Stepping into a bear trap. 

Whumpee getting mistaken for a target. Tortured in their place while pleading all the while that they got the wrong mark. Of course, no one believes them.

“Know what you are? A liability.”

The random guy the villain shoots in a bar just to make a point. 

“Don’t. Move.”

[Prompt Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

(a few of these arent working so if wibbly-wobbly-whump or hold-back-on-the-comfort changed their blogs please lmk <3

[whumpworld]

Entering and Breaking

(tw: gun, break-in, kidnapping, chain, zip-ties, chains, gore mention, cat scratch) [Drabble Masterpost]

Shoutout to @hidden-dreamland for this idea - I just had to write it <3

Too remote.

The burglar knew that. 

They knew that they shouldn’t be going somewhere quite this remote - people who live out in the middle of nowhere like this tend to do their own hunting. Which means guns.

But.

It’s an old house. Older car. Well unkempt.

And most importantly no cameras.

Since the burglar had been living large, jumping house to house in the town, not only had people started installing their own security systems, but the fucking city started putting up cameras, too.

It just wasn’t safe anymore. They couldn’t afford to go to jail - they just couldn’t. Too much was at risk.

So. That meant driving. That means rural homes. That meant rural homes that weren’t estates that weren’t crawling with security systems. That means places like this. 

Ugh.

The burglar stood in the treeline, watching the owner of the home as they came home - unlucky break, that. Should have gone in while they weren’t there. Of course, the burglar didn’t know they weren’t there at that time. 

They watched as the owner moved around a warm-lit kitchen, singing along to music that barely tickled at the air through the windows. Watched as they cooked. Watched them fold laundry and throw a penpoint laser around the room, kitten chasing it. 

Strange thing, that kitten.

The burglar could swear it saw them when it sat in the windowsill, wide yellow eyes dilated out into the night. All-knowing, overly saturated whole moons that someone shoved and pushed into the little thing’s skull until it was able to see some desperate little creature sitting in the treetops of a darkened timber, shrouded in leaves with a deflated duffle bag strapped to their back.

Unsettling, that kitten. 

Stripes that blended into the blinds until the burglar wasn’t even sure if the cat was there at all. Maybe they were just staring too long into windows.

Regardless, the lights were out for hours before the burglar finally worked up the courage to shimmy down their little pine tree, sap screaming across the front of their black hoodie and catching at their long hair, before their feet hit the ground, greeted by damp, muggy leaves. 

They moved to the house as swiftly and simply as they could, sliding a thin, metal ruler into the gap between the window and sill, persuading the latch to oonch a little more little more littttttle more to the right with tiny nudges and taps until it finally popped free. 

Carefully, they pressed the window up, careful to touch only the pane, not the glass. It creaked and shuddered as wood ground against wood, but they kept the ascent as smooth as possible.

In a moment, they were able to curl upward, heaving themself over the edge and setting one soft foot onto the hardwood of the living room.

Their eyes skittered around the room, immediately searching for any sign of threat or notice. A flick shocked through their silent body as eyes flashed in the darkness - kitten perched on the piano with those haunting yellow eyes shining at them. Just watching. Uncaring and all knowing. 

The burglar swallowed, snugging the window back down to avoid outdoor noises that might alert their victim of their presence.

Carefully and silently, the burglar began to shift through the house. Checking. Stashing. Silver spoons, identified by the tarnish. A slightly outdated but still valuable console. An ipad that they tucked under their arm - not wanting it broken by the other contents of the bag. They needed to wipe it before they left anyway in case there was a tracking option on it. 

They moved carefully, plucking up small electronics and…..stepping around the damn kitten that insisted on weaving between their legs as they moved. “Shoo- shoo, I need to nodontgothere-” the burglar groaned as the kitten started climbing up their leg. 

They stumbled as a tiny claw dug into their leg, hissing at the pain as they clattered to the ground. Evidently their main priority was cradling the ipad like a baby- keeping it perfectly safe while the burglar landed on a bag full of sharp, cold, and hard. They managed to keep their yell to a minimum as corners and edges bruised into their back and side, pinching the kitten by the scruff and setting them aside. 

Floorboards creaked above them, the owner of the house shifting out of bed. 

“Fuck-” that was a lot of noise- shiiiiiiiit- they pushed up to standing and slipped into the closest closet they could find, pushing the kitten out after them as the staircase groaned and shuddered under the oncoming footsteps of doom. 

The burglar’s breath slammed so hard against their ribs as they stood behind the door they didn’t dare close completely - it would make too much noise to latch, focusing instead on the -fucking KITTEN TRYING TO CLAW IN AFTER THEM - SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHI- 

Without thinking much, they found a random, jingly cat toy at their feet and flicked it through the crack between door and pane, holding painful breath in tight lungs as the sound echoed through the moonlit house.

The kitten followed, skittering and pouncing on the fuzzy thing.

The burglar heard a sigh - footsteps wandering up to the kitten. They could barely see a hand reaching into frame, scritching behind the kitten’s ears. The little terror, in turn, rolled over, grabbing and biting playfully at the hand in a viciously harmless attack. 

“Precious thing, you need to learn to be quiet at night..” the voice was soft. Groggy from sleep. Clearly a little relieved it was ‘just a kitten’ they heard. 

The burglar took a small step back, away from the crack in the door lest the owner glance up and see the streak of light glinting off a wide brown eye through the crack.

Panic snapped through them and their breath caught as their heel dropped into nothing. In a flash, all the burglar could see was them tumbling - stumbling and flailing through the darkness into a cool, cavernous pit of nothing - bones crunching against stone as they hit the bottom. 

But they didn’t fall.

Their hand slipped to the side, gripping a wooden rail their instincts must have deemed there. 

They turned, eyes wide in the darkness now illuminated by that strip of light. 

….not a closet.

Basement stairs. A landing.

The burglar took a deep, shuddering breath.

They were too loud. Breathing too loud. They could swear the owner of the house could hear their heartbeat slamming- echoing off the walls.

They had to get further away.

So..down the stairs they went.

Carefully - so carefully - they stood on the crosses of wood, walking only where they could see nails.

The wood was new. Unfinished. Barely sanded. Handmade.

But strong. Strong and sturdy.

It, blessedly, didn’t creak under their weight as they slowly descended into the darkness. 

Foot tapping blindly out at the air on each step, they clutched the duffle bag and ipad close, terrified of dropping either of them and making a clatter. Terrified of hitting the ground before they realized it was there. Terrified of…everything, really.

Their breaths came a little more freely the further they got from the door, quiet, wet pants all but echoing off stone walls. Close. Telling them at least that the space was small. Fairly bare. Mostly for storage, then.

….maybe there would be things there? Family heirlooms or even a safe? People keep shit like that in basements, right?

They could bide their time here while they waited for the owner to fall back asleep - which meant waiting a couple more hours to make sure they were dead enough up there that they could sneak back out the window without the hell kitten waking them up again.

Then they’d get out and it would be fine and no one could call the police and everything would be fine. 

Breath choked against their throat as their foot hit a little too hard against concrete - the bottom of the stairs now.

The little colden slit of light didn’t extend nearly far enough. Eyes still adjusting, the burglar reached blindly out in front of them, hand moving through cool, musty air. Touching nothing as they blindly shuffled forward with eyes plastered open - wide with the desperation to see.

They didn’t dare turn on a light - maybe they would if it were one on a dimmer - just to get a little glo- OH-!

They stopped, turning around the ipad in their hands. They pulled the cover around to block the flashlight, at least mostly, then opened it, swiping and flicking on the flashlight option.

A spit of light swarmed out from the area in a small arch, and the burglar clamped their hand down over it.

They just needed a glow. Just enough to know they weren’t going to hit someth-

Their heart stopped dead and painful at the sound of footsteps groaning against the floorboards above their head.

They were breathing so hard it came in a round, muffled panting breaths coming so sporadically and echoing that it almost sounded like there were two of them here. 

Eyes wide and plastered to the ceiling, they kept their breath dead still and the light clutched and covered against their chest as they blindly tracked the steps across the room. Through the kitchen. Up the stairs again. A soft cooing and chittering as they did.

They were bringing the damn cat with them.

Good.

The burglar took a deep breath, peeling back the cover of the ipad again and squinting against the fresh wash of white light as it turned around the room.

Shelves. Desk. Oddly…clean - no storage? Closet an-

The burglar’s breath clattered to a stop as the ipad slipped from their fingers at the flash of eyes staring back at them - haunted face outlined only briefly until the light fell and flickered away. 

They stumbled back against the floor, fear and panic tangling up their stomach and squeezing at their lungs in an icy, branching fire. They choked on it, breaths harsh and desperate. New threat located.

Their fingers scrabbled for the ipad again, hand raking across the broken screen to force the light back on again. Hitting the side of it with the heel of their hand as they shoved themself back - dufflebag forgotten on the ground in the middle of the room - until their back hit the wall.

When the light finally did turn back on, it was flickering - sporadic. They shoved the light at the face they saw, begging the universe to let it just be a trick of the light. A strange marking in the store or an old coat hanging strangely on a chair like the ‘monster in their closet’ when they were a kid. That they’d see the creature���s face and it wouldn’t be real at all. Please please please-

But that didn’t happen.

They saw bloodied, dirty hands and elbows, forearms crossed up over a face they couldn’t see anymore. 

Torn clothes..

On the wrists…zipties..

The burglar’s breaths were coming so fast now they were starting to get dizzy. Then softly sob - no - no that wasn’t them - no, that was the creature. The person. The person who was chained up in a fucking basement.

The burglar took several deep, shuddering breaths, keeping the ipad pointed at them.

A small, hoarse voice cracked across the room, not even amounting to a whisper. “pl-ease-”

The burglar stared, beam of light trembling over the wall - shaking like a projector with far too aggressive a fan rattling the image during a grade school movie day. 

The burglar couldn’t think of a response. Couldn’t think of..anything. But they did point the light away.

They set the ipad down on the ground, light pointed up so it scattered a gray haze over the entire room. 

Tear-sparked eyes peeked out from behind shaking hands as they light moved away from the poor creature. 

They were small. Frail. Littered in bruises. Tear-tracks slid down their cheeks, cutting through the dirt, blood, and grime.

“Wh-hho a-re you-??” they dared to ask..

The burglar..didn’t know how to answer that either. “I…n..I’m not anyone- I j….wh-ats going on??”

The little human scrubbed at their eyes. “Y-oure not with him?”

The burglar shook their head in small twitches. “No- just…I….I was..no I don’t know him.”

They seemed to breathe a little easier now - eyes flicking swiftly up to the ceiling - then descending to the burglar again. “C-ccan y-ou get me o-ut-?”

The burglar swallowed down the knot in their throat. It caught on dryness and fear, but they forced it down anyway. 

“Yeah- y-yeah I can …do that-” they glanced around the room, whisper growing in pitch as they moved up to a crouch, looking around for..a key..? “..how?”

The human stood carefully, chain around their ankle chafing and rattling slightly - it echoed through the room. “Th-eres bolt cutters i-n the cabinet-??”

The burglar did not want to think about what the fuck this sicko needed bolt cutters in their torture basement.

Their mind filled in the answer to that question anyway.

Bile rose to the back of their throat, but they nodded, standing and tugging it open. They felt around in the darkness for the thick, heavy metal, and dragged it out with a grumbling scrape and a small clatter. They winced at the sound, but heaved it up against them - fuck it was heavy-

They carried it across the room to the captive, anyway. 

“..wrists first-?”

The captive nodded desperately, holding out their wrists. 

The burglar took a moment of heaving to get the teeth of the bolt cutters properly in place where they wouldn’t bite through skin, but snapped them together fairly easily. 

The captive shuddered a soft sob, relief dripping from their eyes as they rubbed at their wrists. 

The burglar didn’t wait for further instruction, they needed to move.

They knelt down to the captive’s feet, slotting one link of the chain between the thick metal teeth, then braced one handle against their thigh as their hands pulled back.

It bruised and dug into the flesh of their leg, but they didn’t stop.

The metal didn’t relent, but they didn’t stop.

Teeth grit, fueled by fear and desperation, the burglar pulled harder and harder, feeling the bruise work against the bone and listening to their back crackle at the strain. 

They shifted, readjusting - maybe just one half of the link?? It was dented- that was a good sign - but not nearly enough. 

They had to break it.

The captive rested both hands on the burglar’s shoulders, steadying both of them as the burglar groaned under the effort. They flinched hard as a hand pressed over their mouth, indicating quiet. They were making too much noise. 

They were so stupid.

Silencing their voice with a small nod, the burglar moved back to the agonizing pull, jerking the handle to and fro, desperately trying to force the iron link to submit to iron teeth, crumbling to the ground.

They almost cursed as a little body brushed soft against their leg. “Not the time-” they scooted the kitten away from their leg with their foot, resuming their posi-

…

..how did you get..h..-

The burglar straightened immediately, terrified eyes turning to the stairs.

The owner sat there, crouched in the shadows.

The softest glint shone off the barrel of the pistol that was lazily pointed at the pair of them. Footsteps moved all but silently down the stairs - heavy all the same. The burglar flinched at every muffled step.

Silence clattered away as the owner’s shoe crunched against the discarded ipad, sending the world dark.

A ‘click’ and the room flickered into blinding, garish, rotting light from the dusty orange of a dangling bulb. 

“Ohhh honey, did you pick the wrong house..”

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @uvanuva @a-whumped-tea) 

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[whumpworld]

Whump things:

Hand. Over. Their. Mouth.

Whumper grabs the whumpee from behind- one hand over their mouth, the other is across their chest, or maybe twisting the Whumpee’s arm behind their back?

Whumpee is caught by surprise, their eyes are wide and panicked, clawing at the hand, trying to pry it off. You can hear them struggling, breathing furiously, trying to cry out and protest.

Maybe there’s chloroform on a rag held over their mouth, so they pass out in a few moments…?

(I couldn’t find a gif, so please enjoy this movie poster instead 😅).

[whumpworld]

‘ how long has it been hurting? ’ for ezra

From this ask thing.

BLESS YOU for asking about my guy Ezra. I'm long overdue to write some backstory content for him (and Sam).

This takes place several years before the beginning of Do No Harm.

WARNINGS: Chronic pain, BBU/BBU-Adjacent, past abuse, restraints mention

There are still some mornings when the feeling of a warm body next to him makes Ezra’s heart race before his mind can catch up. Today, blessedly, is not one of them. 

It’s been almost a year since this thing between him and Sam was given a name. A year since the first night he fell asleep next to him—the accidental product of staying up late and talking for hours, as they had been doing for weeks—and woke up to the realization that he never wanted to wake up anywhere without Sam Easton again. 

Mornings like this make Ezra certain he made the right decision. 

(As if Sam ever gives him reason to doubt). 

The light from the window catches on his golden curls as Sam stretches into awareness with a chorus of popping joints. “Good morning,” he groans.

Ezra props himself onto an elbow, smiling down at him. “Good morning,” he replies.

One blue eye pops open. “Are you watching me sleep?” he grumbles. “Weirdo.”

“Your snoring demands an audience.”

The other eye cracks into a glare. “I do not snore.”

“No.” Ezra agrees solemnly, shaking his head. “Definitely not.”

The comforter slides down as Sam pushes himself up, exposing the plane of his broad chest. He catches Ezra staring and smiles. “Can I kiss you?”

He still asks. Every time, he asks. 

Ezra leans down and presses their lips together. He will never, ever tire of this feeling.

Things don’t escalate further. They rarely do in the mornings, but Sam never lets him feel guilty for it. Ezra is the first to pull away, parting with a final kiss to the tip of his partner’s nose. “Breakfast?”

“I can help,” Sam offers, because he will every time, even if they’ve been over it a hundred times. 

“You’re on coffee duty only,” Ezra says. “We’ve only just patched up the burn marks on the wall from your last attempt at french toast.”

“Whatever you say.” Sam’s head falls dramatically into his pillow. Ezra allows himself a moment to stare.  He is so beautiful. He is his. 

“Come on,” Ezra says, nudging him under the covers before throwing them off. He swings his legs over his side of the bed. 

The moment he tries to put weight down, pain flares up his leg. Perhaps it’s proof of how comfortable he has become in this room that he cannot stop the hiss that sucks through his teeth. 

“What is it?” Sam is wide awake now. He sits up, and his eyes fall to where Ezra’s fingers massage the tender muscles in his leg. “Your knees?”

“It’s nothing,” Ezra insists, because it is. This is nothing new. 

“Ezra.” His voice is soft. Concerned. “You can tell me if it’s getting bad again. How long has it been hurting?”

Would it be better if he told him the truth? That it never really stopped? That there is no permanent reprieve for Ezra when it comes to pain. There are only brief gasps for air between the worst of the spells. 

Sam knows a lot. He knows details about his past; more than Ezra ever planned to tell anyone, once upon a time. But there are certain things that need not ever see the light of day. 

There is no reason for Sam to know that his knees hurt—will always hurt—because his first Keeper used to make him kneel for hours on a gravel-dusted cement floor as punishment. Or that the Keeper after that would fall asleep and leave him tied in muscle-straining positions until daybreak. That injuries compounded on top of injuries with no time in between to heal. 

Sam knows more about Ezra’s past than anyone ever will. But Ezra sees no reason to paint him pictures that will only keep him up at night. 

Instead, he releases the grip on his knee and leans back to hold Sam’s hand. He meets his eyes and plants a kiss on his cheek. “I am fine, Samuel,” he says. And he means it. 

Today is a good day, but even on the bad ones, Ezra knows he is one of the lucky ones. 

[whumpworld]

‘ what will make you feel better? ’ for Jaime with Handler Smith

From THIS ask thing.

Have some rare Jaime in training.

WARNINGS: BBU, kidnapping, implied noncon

“Ah, ah, nope. Don’t do that.” Handler Smith’s voice finds him in the dark corner of his mind he’s tucked himself into. No matter how far inward Jaime crawls, Handler Smith always finds him. “I know you want to resist. I can see it in your eyes. I know you want to, but I need you to stop and think about that for a second. Really think about it.”

Jaime can’t think about much. Inside this room, there is only now. There are only staggered, drawn out moments of existence, and he has no choice but to survive each second as it comes. If he strays too far into the past—How long has he been here? Is anyone looking for him? Does anyone know he’s missing?—or thinks too much about the future—Will he ever get out of here? What is going to happen to him? Is he going to die?—he shuts down. 

“In the long run, what will make you feel better?” his Handler asks, the blunt tip of his gloved finger nudging Jaime’s chin upward. “A few seconds of rebellion, which you know won’t end well for you. It never does. Or… Doing what you know you’re supposed to do—what you will end up doing in the end, regardless—and you’ll get to eat today.”

It’s as if the words reactivate the ache in his stomach. He’s gotten good at sectioning his mind into manageable partitions, blocking out the sensors that scream at him unhelpful survival instincts like pain, hunger, fear, fear, fear. But Handler Smith is always there, eager to drag his misery back to the surface. 

Jaime’s stomach growls, and he knows the decision has been made for him. All of his choices, or lack thereof, were carved into stone the moment he was dragged into a windowless van behind the bar. His fate is sealed, and even the small sliver of him that clings to resistance knows that Handler Smith is right. He knows how this goes. A full stomach is never as good as his dignity, but sometimes he is weak enough to forget. Sometimes, he gets a glimpse of clarity and knows that any facade of dignity he feels is a cheap imitation of the real thing. 

Dignity doesn’t belong to him anymore. Jaime is nothing more than a series of moments he has to survive. He will do what he has to. 

“What’s it going to be, ‘750?”

The person who used to be Jaime Quinn, but never will be again, keeps his eyes on the floor and relaxes his jaw.

[whumpworld]

“Close your eyes, I’ve got a present for you!” Caretaker whispered, smiling. It was Whumpee’s birthday and they wanted to get them something special. Something they wouldn’t forget.

“Okay!” Whumpee giggled. They’d really come out of their shell after the months away from whumper. “Shall I turn around too? I might sneak a look otherwise!”

Caretaker took Whumpee’s shoulders and turned them to the wall. “Wait here.”

The next thing Whumpee knew, hands we grabbing at them, wrenching their weakened arms behind their back and wrestling them to the floor. They were just about to call out for Caretaker when they heard their voice. “Hey, I’m sorry about this, especially on your birthday but Whumper was offering a lot for your return.”

[whumpworld]

difficult recovery prompts

Nightmares

Won’t wake up

Can’t/won’t speak

Overheated

Hypothermic

Sickly

A fever that breaks

A fever that won’t let up

In too much pain to sleep

Lingering effects of poison

Applying bandages

Removing bandages

Stitched up wound(s)

Can’t stop shaking

Finally, water

Finally, food

No appetite

Drawn and frail

Pounding headache

Unsteady on feet

Falls trying to leave room

Not quite themself anymore

Hopelessness

Sore and achy

Fading bruises

Tense muscles

A slow-mending break

Impatient and frustrated

A balm or lotion

Touch starved

Side effects of medicine

Too much medicine

Not enough medicine

Recovering lost and alone

Recovering safe at home

Recovering while still with whumper

[whumpworld]

whumper that is just as much of a whumpee as the person they keep locked in a cell. whumpee was confused at first, whumper seemed to turn green when they first drew a blade across their skin, whumpee is sure they heard the sound of vomiting once they were back in their cell. they’re still frightened, still shake and fight back whenever whumper comes with their new toys, but there’s something- something about whumper that whumpee just can’t understand.

it starts to make sense when whumper stretches to remove whumpee’s chains, bandages peaking out from under their shirt. there are days where whumpee seems more frightened than whumpee, when they step into their cell with a black eye and bruised hands they know didn’t come from their last session.

“i’m so sorry.” whumper says one day, bruised hand shaking as they grab their pliers.

[whumpworld]

tw: drugging

a defiant whumpee trying to claw at whumper’s arms in protest as their body reacts to the sedative that was just injected into them. they can only muster aggravated, painful groans and whimpers as whumper cards a hand through their hair.

“shh, my love… don’t fight it,” they whisper, guiding their captive to lay back down.

[whumpworld]

the sluttiest thing a whumper can do is wrap their arm around whumpees torso mid-escape attempt and growl a low “oh, no you don’t…” in their ear.

[whumpworld]

“Say that again.”

Whumpee went to open their mouth but before any words came, Whumper grabbed them by a fistful their hair, shoving them against the wall and brought a knife against their throat,

“I fucking dare you.”

[whumpworld]

Good day; please leave your whumpees unattended, unsupervised, and in an open place where they’re very grabbable. 

Thank you.

-Sincerely, totally not the whumpers.

[whumpworld]

Whumpee gasps in shock as two hands suddenly cover their eyes, and a painstakingly familiar voice whispers in their ear…

“Guess whoooo~?”