#[tw: blindfold]

[cassieloveswhump]

Blindfold your whumpees.

Tie their hands together over their head, and put those bindings onto a hook dangling from the roof so that their hands are secured above their head and they can't move away, then blindfold them. Leave them there until they're so tired they'd fall asleep if they could, then beat them up. Punch them in the stomach, and watch them be unable to curl up to protect themself, or use a crowbar if you want more force. Watch them work themself into a panic trying to anticipate and brace for the next blow, then strike at where they're most vulnerable. Rinse and repeat until satisfied.

Bonus marks if whumpee's arms are secured in a way that forces them to stand on their tiptoes in order to relieve the weight pulling on their shoulders, and with every blow they take they lose their balance and have to frantically resume their tiptoe position before their shoulder gets dislocated.

[gilverrwrites]

Swatches of pink and red

Tim Drake/Reader, 650 words Kinktober entry 12: Vibrator Warnings: Dom/Sub | Blindfold | Vibrator Requested by: Anonymous

When you arrive home, Tim’s already kneeling on the bed, stripped down to his custom-printed Blue Beetle I socks, dick at full attention, and eagerly awaiting instruction. You’d promised him tonight would be the night, even went out and bought a brand-new wand just for the occasion, and you can tell from his pink cheeks and bashful smile that he’s been looking forward to it.  

“Okay, Timbo. Don’t move.” You smile at him as you cross the bedroom, fishing an old blindfold, your new toy, and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Tim watches keenly as you climb onto the bed in front of him until you wrap the silky fabric around his eyes. You place a chaste kiss on his soft lips before leaning back to admire his muscular frame; his pale skin and the dark body hair that adorns his lower body until you see his toes twitching in anticipation. You count them out, making him wait until he gets to thirty before you concede. “Lay down, legs open, hands above your head.”

Ever greedy for praise and intensely aware of his surroundings at all times, Tim immediately follows your instructions easily getting comfortable without accidentally nudging you or fussing over where you might be situated.

“Oh wow, aren’t you being a good boy today?” You coo, and he offers an appreciative “thank you” in return, cheeks turning two shades darker already. If you wanted to, you could make a pretty apt chart of Tim’s horniness levels using nothing but pink and red paint swatches.

“Just keep it up.” You warn, enjoying the way his hips shudder in response to the cold lube you begin to brush along the length of his dick. Already he begins panting as you wrap your hand around his shaft, jerking him in slow, loose movements. “If you move out of position, I will stop, and you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night for another chance to cum. Is that understood, baby?”

“Yes.” The word sounds strained, pushed out of his throat between bitten lips as he tries hard not to rock himself between your fingers. “Please do it.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” You deliberately take your time however as you locate the power button and switch through the different speed and tempo settings until you find one you’re happy with.

As soon as you press the tip of the wand to the base of Tim’s cock, his mouth falls open, a long, obscene groan escaping his lips. His legs stay nice and wide for you, but he lifts them in the air, following the curl of his toes and incidentally giving you a gorgeous view of his tight ass.

“Does this feel good?” You implore, working the vibrating head along his shaft until it's pressed against the pink crown of his cut penis. Tim responds to your question with a series of indecipherable whines and the rapid nodding of his head. Intoxicating to watch, but not the answer you’re looking for. “Come on Timmy, you can do it. Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

“Sssss.” He hisses as you circle his tip, fingers thrusting into his hair to temper his fervour. Not quite the position he’d started in, but his hands are above his head, plus he looks so sinfully debauched, all rosy skinned and messy-haired, so you’ll let him pass. “Shit! So good, so, so good. Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Already the veins of his cock are twitching and throbbing beneath your touch. Every time your pumping hand reaches the base, his balls grow tighter. Breath heavy, sweat-slicked skin growing more heated with every move of the vibrator. Poor thing is not going to last long at all.

Hey you, yeah you! You think you're hot shit? Good! Cause you are. 💖

Kinktober Masterlist

[hanasnx]

SENSORY DEPRIVATION — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | p in v: cowgirl | “blindfold” sensory deprivation | sexual content.

“The doctor said you’ll be fine just as long as we wait it out.” you remind PETER PARKER who has to be led by your hand through your shared apartment. He shuffles through the narrow passageway of the closing door, and fumbles through the hall with his fingertips grazing the wall. He trips up on some shoes that aren’t put away, and you catch him around his bicep, propping him back up with your body. “Woah, there.” you exclaim.

“When they tell you not to look at bright lights they sure mean it. Guess I was lucky it didn’t burn permanently into my retinas.” he thinks aloud with a sheepish scoff in spite of himself, letting you lock the door behind you as you guide him to the couch. “Next time I won’t make direct eye contact with Electro as he’s powering up no matter how sparkly he is.” You chuckle at his quip through your nose, turning his body so he can feel the furniture against the backs of his calves, signaling him to sit, so he does.

“Makes sense now why prey animals fall victim to bioluminescence, huh?” you reply back, offering up some banter that stretches that amused and dimpled grin onto his handsome features. He can’t look up at you—not like usual—staring straight ahead with his palms set on his knees.

“You callin’ me a prey animal?”

“Who’s temporarily blind because of the pretty lights, Peter?”

“Touché.”

You sigh from his verbal antics, unable to stay quiet even in a situation where most people would panic. His spidey sense did alright to get him out of that fight, but it doesn’t help much when he’s about to run into a wall—that’s where you come in. You round him to get to the kitchen, collecting some tap water in a glass.

“You know, when you said you were going to take care of me…” Peter begins, twisting his spine so he can project his words to you over his shoulder. “I wasn’t imagining you taking advantage of my misfortune and abusing me in some verbal beatdown.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” you chastise, rolling your eyes. It makes sense he’d be a little sore after today, maybe you should take it easier on him. You of all people know how much he hates being put out of commission. Glass in hand, you return, picking up his wrist to fix the water against his palm. Gratefully, he takes a swig. “So, in what ways were you imagining me taking advantage of you?” you continue the conversation, though you notice how flirtatious your tone comes off only after you’ve spoken.

Peter swallows thickly, and licks the moisture off his upper lip. You watch the motion from the side, that vacant gaze of his still stuck on the direction in front of him. “Well, for starters, we wouldn’t have any clothes on.”

“Oh, Peter…” you sigh, bouncing on him mere moments later. Completely bare, and soaking wet, you were quick to grant his wish, riding him at a second’s notice. Thick fingers tightly dig into the flesh of your hips, guiding them from his position underneath you. Blank eyes stare off into the ceiling, twitching as they narrow when the pleasure gets to be too much. “Can’t believe you wanted this after a day like today. You’re supposed to be resting.” your breathless tone doesn’t convey any serious admonishment at all, and it tugs a crooked grin onto his lips.

“But I’m so relaxed, honey. Doin’ such a good job, makin’ me feel so good. Better than a prescription. ‘Doctor would be proud.” he praises, husky and rushed. The delicate space between his brows pinch as his tongue forms over his upper lip, concentrating in increasing the pace. He overpowers whatever control you had, using his strength that far surpasses your own to hasten your hips. You don’t think he’s relaxed at all, he’s certainly not resting, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Every inch of him sheathed inside you, it’s hard to think about anything other than getting that tip to brush your spongy spot.

Your face twists, obscene sounds pouring out of you because of his actions. Showing off his taut body putting in the work for you always gets you going, dragging your nails down his pretty and flexed abdomen like a reward. A low and torturous groan cries out from deep in his throat because of it—like that’s exactly what he needed—and it sends a powerful shudder right through you. Hands slide up to your torso, squeezing your flesh as he lifts you, and fucks up into you instead. Your tits to the air bounce with each mad sheath, and you can’t help but be loud, keens echoing throughout the apartment.

He knows what you look like—he knows—every intimate and dirty detail. How you must look riding him, what expression you’re making on that cute face, what your body is doing to him right now… every secret mole and birthmark, where your hands are, how your tits jiggle, everything, he can picture it. It’s all in his head and just out of reach. When he opens his eyes, it’s completely without focus, staring up at the ceiling while he hears your pleasured cries as music to his ears.

He kneads your body in his hands, trying to release some of that base desire by molding your skin like clay. “God, I wish I could look at you right now, baby.” he confesses, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

[pinofdnp]

to be young and in love!!!!

[bartholomew-junior]

SORRY FOR THE WAIT FELLAS

[whumpberry-cookie]

Silent good intentions

(tw: death wish)

__________________

There's the underground organisation that focuses on freeing political prisoners from interrogations.

The thing is, their rules say the members can never ever show their faces during the missions. Or their voices. Or anything that could help indentifying them.

So when Whumpee's carried out of the prison, they instantly lose hope. Because their rescuers don't remove the blindfold. They don't reasure Whumpee. They don't explain where they are taking Whumpee.

And when Whumpee starts fighting, they silently tie them down to a table by legs and wrists.

Even tho new Caretaker tries to treat their wounds the gentlest they can, Whumpee still begs for death, thinking another interrogation is about to begin.

______________

After a long time healing Whumpee is allowed to move around the room. Tho their hands are still tied behind their back, so they don't try to remove the blindfold.

Caretaker feeds them by a spoon in silence.

"...Thank you"

Caretaker just pats their back in responce.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Mind Games

New story who diiisss. Anyway, thank you to @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 for the whole idea of this story! Hero x detective for a twist.

TW: Blood, stabbing, knife, mentioned murder, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, mentioned drugging, male whump

Waking up blindfolded and bound to a chair wasn't exactly a novelty for the hero, but that didn't make it any less irritating. There was something about the forced ignorance a blindfold subjected you to that got on the hero's nerves and blew fuses in his brain.

The patter of footsteps on a parquet floor rang in the hero's ears, and he could already sense his mystery assailant get near him and flick him on the head like a disobedient child.

"You up, sunshine?" Detective's sharp voice called out.

The rough grunt he gave seemed to be enough of a response, and the detective removed the blindfold from around his head.

The light seemed to assault his eyes, too bright and cold and violent, and the hero let out a soft cuss. "Do you make a habit out of kidnapping people and tying them up in your basement, detective?" he questioned irritably, his eyes half-screwed shut.

The detective, immaculate as ever, wearing a goddamn three-piece suit in his own house, gave out a soft, but unsettling laugh, leaving his lips in a tight smile that was all teeth. "No, Hero. But you already know why you're here, don't you? Because I know you think playing dumb might save you, but I'm here to tell you it won't," he growled, baring his teeth.

The detective was never a particularly pleasant human being, dryer than a desert more often than not, but he was always calm, like no problem in the world could even sour his mood. So to see him already lash out, even this slightly told the hero that even with him tied up and possibly drugged with how groggy he was feeling, the detective probably saw him as a threat.

Shame he'd have to play another set of cards to win the game.

"Alright," the hero said calmly, fixing the other man with a piercing look, "if we're agreeing neither of us is here to screw around, then how about you cut to the chase. You don't seem like the 'pace and around the room and monologue' type of guy," he reasoned, an easy smile on his face.

Maybe he wasn't feigning oblivion anymore, but he wasn't giving the detective the satisfaction of feeling like he was scaring him.

The detective made a scoffing noise, reaching into his pocket to pull out a switchblade. "Maybe you'll learn to smile less at the wrong times, asshole," he spat as he unfurled the blade, looking eerily calm, nothing behind the whirpools of black that were his eyes.

"You're going to talk. Answer all my questions properly. And if you don't, I think even you are not dumb enough to not be able to guess what's going to happen."

The knife really didn't faze the hero the way it should. Sure, it left him uneasy, sharp and disturbingly pristine. But he'd been roughed up before one too many times, so he knew to some extent how this stuff worked.

The hardest part was selling his act.

"How did you find out it was me?" the detective started, pulling up another chair and carelessly throwing one leg over the other.

"I'm good at what I do," the hero shrugged, his face blank. But he couldn't help wincing as the detective grazed his thigh with the knife, his body already tormented enough with his ridiculously cramped muscles.

Nothing he couldn't handle, anyway.

"The evidence. What lead you to me?" Detective tried again, the blade still in his hand with Hero's fresh blood snaking down it.

"Does it matter? I figured you out anyways," the hero supplied listlessly, his gaze languid and half-lidded.

The detective stabbed harder this time, twisting the knife in the hero's shoulder and forcing a snarl out of him. He truly wasn't sure for how long he could keep playing the defiant card, the pain blooming across his shoulder and even down to his arm as the detective snatched the knife out just as fast as he'd put it in.

If he could incinerate the detective by staring at him wrong, he seriously would've. Instead he grit his teeth and tried to ignore his throbbing shoulder, looking up at the detective, irritated.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat right now." The detective's voice seemed a little too relaxed for comfort, the dirty switchblade now resting on the hero's jugular. The hero was no longer even slightly surprised the other man was a criminal.

It took an insurmountable amount of self-restraint to keep his lips from curving into a self-satisfied grin. Sure, it wasn't very believable if an agency-trained hero crumbled under a few stabs, but death was a reasonable enough fear for even someone as formidable as him. Nevermind that the wide eyes and the harsh bite of the lips were actually fake.

"W-wait. There's no point of you killing me. Not without finding out what you need to know. And do you really need anymore blood on your hands?" the hero breathed out, a little desperation sprinkled into his tone.

The detective looked almost lost in thought, until something wicked burned a fire in his eyes for just a moment. "You only get one chance, Hero. Don't waste it," he drawled lazily, pulling the knife away and twirling it elegantly with one hand.

The hero nodded gratefully, readying himself to lie through his teeth. "When you said the victim had died of asphyxiation, even before you were granted access to the autopsy report."

The detective's brow furrowed and his lips were pulled into a tight frown. "I never said he died of asphyxiation, he died of mercury poisoning."

"Bingo," the hero, his hands now free of their bonds, crooned, as he used the detective's momentary surprise as a distraction, pulling the knife out of his hand and using it to cut through the ropes around his legs.

Say something wrong about a subject and your target will rush to correct you. A surprisingly effective trick as the hero had come to learn.

The detective's face twisted into an expression of pure, unbridled fury as he tried to wrench the knife out of the hero's hand, but he dodged, quick on his feet much to the other man's chagrin.

Hero had to give him credit, the man was almost nearly impossible to stab, parrying the crime-fighter's attacks with calm, stable, maybe even clever moves, so much so that all he'd managed to do was lightly nick him with the blade.

But with all his focus on blocking, he hadn't even noticed that all the hero's fighting had backed him into a corner until too late, until thr crime-stopper's leg had slammed him into the wall with a painful kick, and the knife's cold edge had bit into his skin.

"Don't. Move."

The detective was breathing hard, practically paralysed by the knife and the glint of warning in his enemy's eyes. His face burned with the shame and humiliation of being frozen in place, his own weapon at his neck.

"How d-did. . .you find out it was me?" the detective panted, voice desperate.

It was the hero's turn to smile wickedly. "On the day of the victim's death, he got a visit from his doctor. I searched the trash and found a broken thermometer. It was pretty clear from the bruising on the poor bastard's face the killer was left-handed. The doctor you paid off that I interviewed was right-handed. To test out my theory, I told the doctor I was taking him to prison for the murder, and his tongue might've just slipped too much for your hush money to fix it."

And with that, the hero knocked him out with a punch to the jaw, dragging the other's body and praying desperately the adrenaline would keep the pain in his shoulder at bay until he got out of here at least.

Some trails are shadowy and unclear, obscuring the vision and playing tricks on the mind. But the smallest amount of resilience can very well go a long way, if only you learn to time your moves right. Because even if you only get a short string, you can still sew a mark on the tapestry of your fate.

Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @adamswrongchild @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth @dragonmine-24 @detectivepetrichor @orangeduckweed @red-is-the-reputation4444 @alexii117 @prophecies-bestowed-upon-ye @alphabet-egg

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[wellthisissomething]

A.C.E (에이스) - 선인장 (CACTUS)

Whumpy Moments in Music Videos 1/?

Next

[3-2-whump]

Mistaken Accusation

<prev next>

Well, let's get into it. Beginning of the end. Special thanks to my beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz ! Do mind the tags, and enjoy

This chapter does reference The Hit, so please skim that first if you are not already familiar with it

Author's Note: This is where shit gets real (more real, that is), and where the author may make some decisions that might not vibe with the readers. To those readers, all I will say is fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, and I will honestly be more intrigued than mad if you end up scrapping this part and writing your own version! (Just lmk, like tag me or dm me so I can see?) But, um, yeah, onto the chapter!

TW/CW: description and mention of STD, prostitution whump, mock execution, gun violence (brief, but there), collared whumpee, bound and blindfolded whumpee, shock, emotional whump, fear of death, pissing oneself out of fear, emotional angst, degrading language, toxic relationship, manipulative whumper, possessive whumper, intimate whumper

As Khaled relieved himself in the office bathrooms near the end of the day, he hissed under his breath at the burning sensation coming out of him. That can’t be good, he thought. What would make it feel like he was passing acid or fire down there? He looked down at his dick, eyes widening a little as he saw how inflamed his urethra looked. Khaled let out a mortified little squeak. What’s wrong with my penis?

Should I tell Master? Telling his master that he suspected he’d caught something would only lead to probing questions about Khaled’s sex life, even though he wasn’t the one who had visited every whorehouse within the tristate area. Probing questions about his sex life would mean admitting that he was sleeping with Julio, and admitting that he was sleeping with Julio would only fuel his master’s possessive side and make things far worse for him. Khaled could imagine no situation in which he would come out unscathed if he told Thomas about it. So, he decided not to tell him.

He didn’t have to endure his secret for long though, because as soon as he came back into his master’s office, he could sense the energy had changed. 

“Is there something wrong, Boss?” Khaled asked nervously.

“I have just received information from our foot soldiers and informants that the motorcycle that my would-be assassin rode when he got away came from Alvarez Auto and Motorcycles, a known front of Juicio Divino,” Thomas gritted out.

Khaled’s jaw dropped as his mind slowly put together the pieces that he had in his hands all along. Of course, it was Julio, how could I be so blind?! he thought. Just over a year ago, Khaled himself approached the scrapyard assassin asking him to teach him how to kill, and had been crawling back to him in various states of distress ever since. Julio was one of two people on earth who knew how badly Thomas actually treated him, and, combined with his overprotective tendencies, Khaled mentally beat himself up for not suspecting his boyfriend sooner. 

His master’s stormy gray eyes narrowed at Khaled in a piercing glare as he pushed his tablet across the desk. “Incidentally, you have been visiting Alvarez Auto pretty frequently over the past year, haven’t you?”

Khaled’s stomach twisted in dread as he leaned in closer to read it. There, opened on his slave tracking app, was a map with pins of most-frequently visited locations he had been tracked to, and there was a damning bright red pin at the address of Julio’s garage. His mouth went dry as he opened and closed it in shock, trying to collect the right words to say as the opportunity to beg for mercy slipped through his fingers like sand. “I- Master, I- it’s not what you think-”

The older man disdainfully held up a hand, a nonverbal cue that he didn’t want to hear it. Khaled shrank in on himself. “How did you even pay for a hit against me, huh?” the boss asked. “I know you haven’t made that much money since I’ve started paying you! How could you afford to put out a hit?” His voice lowered to a growl. “Did you bend over for that cholo son of a bitch? Did you let him fuck you like I fuck you? Is that why you’ve got an infection –don’t deny it, Khaled, it hurt when I pissed this morning!”

The world seemed to stop as the air quickly left Khaled’s lungs. Wait, what? He was being accused of conspiring against his master, then of being a whore within the same breath? And to make matters worse, he somehow gave his owner an STD before he realized he had one himself? His breaths came out shallow as his body began trembling in fear. What does this mean for me? What’s going to happen to me? He nearly passed out as his imagination went wild with how severe his punishment would be. “Master, please, I had no idea-”

“Shut up!”

Khaled ceased his begging instantly, a nauseous wave of dread coiling in his stomach as he waited for his master to dole out his sentence. “You will never see anybody besides me again,” his master said, glowering at him in contempt as Khaled’s eyes widened in horror. He got up from his chair and circled around Khaled, with a familiar black shock collar and a length of chain in hand. “I’ll give you a chance to say your goodbyes before we leave.”

Khaled regained enough of his senses to shake his head and back away from the man approaching him. “But, Master, I didn’t-”

The world snapped to the right in a stinging blow as Thomas backhanded him. Khaled rubbed his sore cheek and winced in pain. “You’re lucky I don’t outright kill you, though I still might, if you keep whining like that!” he yelled. Khaled turned silent and sullen, still cradling his sore cheek as the collar tightened like a noose around his throat. “Now, come on, let’s make your final goodbyes count.” His master attached the chain leash to a notch in the shock collar and pulled Khaled towards the exit.

-

Khaled was pulled through the whole office and out to the guard shack like that, stopping periodically as his master made him explain what was going on and why he was leaving to everyone they met. Khaled’s voice was shaking like a leaf the first stop they made; by the time they made it to the guard shack, he was unable to utter anything intelligible past his tears. Nico’s jaw dropped as Thomas explained what had happened and why Khaled was never going to see him again.

“But, he didn’t do it, sir!” he objected, pushing himself out of his desk chair and standing up to face him. “He had no part in it! I can prove it, just listen to me!”

As much as Khaled wanted to interrogate that ‘I can prove it’ claim just a little more, Tom ignored him. He pulled the leash taut and yanked Khaled away. Khaled frantically pulled at the collar around his neck, emitting choked gasps as he stumbled along and struggled to keep up.

They ended up back at the car, where Tom unclipped his leash and pushed the button on the key fob to unlock the trunk of the car. Khaled was shoved up roughly against the side of the car as his hands were gathered behind his back and bound tightly by a soft and silky material, most likely a necktie. “Master, please, please, hear me out –I didn’t put a hit on you, I swear!” he once again tried to explain through a mess of snot and tears. “I don’t want to kill you, why would I want to kill you? Please –listen to me! I don’t want to kill you; I swear I didn’t know!” Thomas dragged him to the back of the car, where he stared down at him in cold fury. He took out a dark cloth from his pocket and unfolded it. Khaled preemptively opened his mouth to receive it, but then the man tied the cloth around his eyes to blind him. He quietly shut his mouth as the blindfold was tied tight enough to catch his hair. He heard the trunk of the car quietly whoosh open before he was picked up and shoved inside. The door of the trunk slammed shut, sealing him in an extra layer of darkness.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever as Khaled shivered in the darkness. It was still far too cold to be riding back there without anything to keep him warm. Throughout the darkness he begged, then screamed, then cried, then sniffled, knowing damn well his master couldn’t hear him.

Time seemed to work differently in the dark, cramped confines of a car trunk. Khaled was unsure of how much time had passed since he was shoved in the trunk, but he was more than concerned that they seemed to keep driving far longer than it usually took to get back to the apartments. He’s never going to forgive me, he realized as he rested his head onto the floor of the trunk. He really thinks I planned to kill him, and now he’s going to take me out into the woods and kill me, or do something so horrific it will make me wish I had died. A fresh round of tears soaked into his blindfold as Khaled whimpered pathetically. I don’t want to die, not like this.

Goddamnit, Julio, you tried to be the hero, and now I’m gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere, Khaled cursed in his head.

The car rolling to a stop and faint click that preceded the trunk unlocking made Khaled’s heartrate speed up. A new wave of anxiety hit him much like the blast of midwinter air when the trunk was opened and he was pulled out. He didn’t feel concrete underneath his shoes, and the fresh icy chill of the air around him told him they weren’t in the parking garage. We really are in the woods somewhere, he thought, his hopes sinking like lead as his master’s hand gripped his elbow and steered him along to an unknown destination. He’s really driven me out to the woods somewhere to kill me. Khaled stumbled as his foot hit an unseen obstruction, but his master dragged him along regardless. This is it. I’m gonna die. His breaths started picking up, heart racing as that last thought worked him up into another nervous state. His owner stopped and threw him forward onto the ground. Khaled landed face first into a cold and wet patch of snow, judging on how it felt when it absorbed his impact. “Get up and kneel.” Khaled’s breaths stopped in his throat. There was no room in his master’s frigid tone for argument. He pushed himself up the best he could with his hands bound behind his back, shivering not just from the cold as he assumed a kneeling position.

A cold, metallic object pressed against the back of the young man’s skull. “If you’ve got anything to say, say it now,” his master’s voice said behind him. A wet and warm spot began to soak his pants in the front. Khaled’s mind went blank. He was so scared he nearly forgot his owner had asked for his last words. He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before shaking his head. Whatever he could say for his last words would go unheeded anyway, lost in the winter’s chill and the indifferent New England woods. He hung his head in resignation, ready for the explosive pain followed by sudden oblivion and nothingness, or whatever it was that lie ahead.

He had at least hoped he would see his father’s face before the end. But the only image his shielded eyes could conjure up before he died was a pair of sharp, steel gray eyes.

Click.

Nothing happened.

The gun lowered, and heavy footsteps crunched in the snow as his would-be executioner walked around to the front of him.

Khaled was still alive. Somehow, he was still alive. There was a light brush of hands reaching behind his head before the blindfold fell away, revealing a familiar face staring down at him with those same steel gray eyes. Khaled’s breath shimmered in the cold moonlit night. He was alive. He wasn’t going to die. He was alive.

All the fear and tension left his body like his vaporous breath in the night as he slumped forward, crying tears of relief into his master’s shoulder as he caught him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he sobbed between each breath.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Thomas soothed as he reached behind Khaled to untie his hands. “I believe you for now, it’s alright.” As soon as his hands were free, Khaled wrapped them around the older man’s neck, hugging him close as he bawled into his shoulder. “I thought about it, but there is no way I can definitively prove it was you.” A muscular pair of arms wrapped around him and held him close, drawing him into the warmth. “And besides, my favorite fuck toy, plotting to kill me?” His master laughed. “No way you’re smart enough for that! I didn’t buy you for your brains, you know!”

“Yes, yes, I’m stupid, I am so fucking stupid, thank you!” Khaled cried. He nuzzled his cold wet face into Tom’s warm neck and peppered the man’s jawline with kisses, murmuring his gratitude between every kiss. He was alive, he didn’t die, and that was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“Let’s go home,” Thomas said, hoisting Khaled onto his feet. “The takeout I bought is getting cold, and you need a change of pants.”

He led the young man through the woods back to side of the road where he had parked his car. “I was completely serious about you never seeing anybody else again, by the way,” he reminded him as he opened the passenger side door. Khaled slid gratefully inside, happy to be in the heated part of the car. “You are relieved of your duties to the organization from now on,” Tom continued as he joined him on the driver’s side, “You are demoted to domestic service. You will stay at home and keep the penthouse spotless, welcoming me to it every evening with warm food and your warmer body. You will stay in the apartment and not leave for anything unless it is with me or a trusted associate. You will never see anybody again. That’ll keep you from conspiring to kill me, or from spreading your legs for anyone else but me, and only I will decide when it’s time to bring you back out again.” He pushed the button and started up the vehicle, setting the heaters to full blast.

Khaled nodded. What did he care about being stuck at home and never seeing anybody again? He was alive, and right now, as he held his freezing fingers close to the vents, that was all that mattered.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[one-piece-aus]

just read your whumtober 2022 day 28 (the katakuri x reader one where reader get kidnapped and sold off) and i was just wondering if u have a part 2 for it ? if not, could u please make one😭😭😭 it’s fine if u don’t wanna xx

have a good day/night!!

Ahoy! Once again, thank you for coming to the askbox to request for part 2. Hope you don't mind me using it for Whumptober, heh. I might've rushed finishing it since I got stuck and I'm falling behind on the days so if you want another part, lmk

You can read part 1 here

Whumptober Day 18

Katakuri x Reader

"Who knew the Charlottles had pretty women on their crew," One of your buyers laughed.

"Maybe you were just paying attention to their men," you smirked, looking at the person despite the blindfold covering your eyes.

"Why you-"

"Enough Tamaki." Sounds like their boss took control of the room, hard to ignore since he had a booming voice. "You need to get back to cleaning the deck."

"Awww, but I thought we bought her for a little fun."

"We are to deliver her to Doflamingo, if his plan succeeds, the government will reward him handsomely, in turn, we'll be rewarded by him for contributing."

"Doflamingo?" You knew of the Heavenly Demon Warlord, his unmerciful wrath toward anyone outside Dressrosa. He'd be a threat if he didn't keep to himself in his lavish country. "That birdbrain, he's all squawk and no dive," you said in a bored tone.

"Why is she still talking?"

"She kept eating the tape boss."

You heard the boss sigh before footsteps were followed out of the room. Silence is the only thing that stays with you in the room, allowing your mind to settle in the horror of what their boss said.

They were taking you to Doflamingo for a plan. A plan where if he succeeds the government is going to reward him, but he's already a Warlord with his own island, what would he do to get more out of... Is he... Is he planning to take out the entire Big Mom Pirates?

You wiggle your way around, trying lift the blindfold from your eyes when something impacted the ship and sent you crashing against the bars. The bars felt warm and gooey, strange, and now your head felt light before it hits against the hard floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"[Y/n]!" Katakuri called for you after entering the cell hall. 

He rushed past the cells, briefly scanning each one for you, and he almost skipped over the one you were in. Haulting in his tracks, he looked into the cell and saw you laying sideways on the ground, your back to him. Relief washed over him and he grabbed onto the bars to move it out of his way when he noticed the bars were a little sticky.

He glanced at the bars, seeing blood on one. His eyes trailed over to you, a small patch of damp hair on the back of head. Fear threw Katakuri's relief out the window, he yanked the cell wall out of its place and tossed it to the side. Kneeling down, he slid you into his arms bridal style and rushed back to the crew he came with.

"Please, stay with me, [Y/n]."

Tag: (The ones who asked for part 2 in comments of the last part) @aceduchessdragoness @ijadedoll @devikaary @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Days 6, 8, 18, 27, 28, alt prompt

“They don’t care about you.” | Abandoned | Chair | Headache | “Or what?” | Defiance | Gag | “You poor thing.”

<<< previous | next >>>

Contains: bound, gagged, blindfold, threats, betrayal

WC: 1080

A curse that needs breaking

The food taster was submerged in darkness.

He knew, in reality, he was bound, gagged, and blindfolded . . . but with the dregs of the sedative poison still coursing through him, he felt like he’d fallen into a pool of nothingness.

Perhaps a pool of nothingness would have been preferable.

He recoiled when the black cloth was ripped away, groaning as a sudden onslaught of light burned his eyes. The headache which had already been pounding away at his skull before he was arrested—and then drugged and abducted—magnified tenfold.

“Poor thing,” said a woman’s voice. It was calm, serpentine, and imbued with a sense of of unspeakable cruelty. “He looks terribly confused.”

Confused was one way to describe it. The food taster stared at the two figures in front of him, who he’d only seen from afar during the royal ball: the queen and the crown prince.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. A thick knot of fabric pressed against his tongue, muffling his words. “Let me go!”

The prince’s eyes glittered. “Let you go? Or what?” He snorted. “What will you do to me, cursebreaker?”

The food taster jerked furiously against the rope binding him to a stiff wooden chair, more questions trying to spill out, each one garbled and fruitless.

“I’ll take that out,” said the prince calmly, watching him struggle with amusement, “if you promise to behave. I know it might be difficult for a peasant to act civilized, but I’ll ask that you at least try.”

The food taster’s muscles stilled.

How did the prince know where he had come from? Where could he possibly have learned?

The ghost of gold links brushed his skin; the phantom of blood-red lips grazed his.

Oh.

“You look distressed, boy,” said the queen. “Trust me, things are only going to get worse if you don’t cooperate.”

Cooperate with what, exactly?

“I can take it from here, Mother,” the prince said, his voice stiff. “No need to . . . subject yourself to what comes next.”

“Do you think I’m squeamish, my son?” Her eyes, silvery-grey, snapped. “Weak?”

The prince bowed. “Not at all . . . Your Majesty.”

Appeased, the queen slipped away. The prince sauntered forward to tug the gag from the food taster’s mouth. “You’re fully awake, yes?”

The food taster eyed him warily. “Unfortunately.” He tried unsuccessfully to dislodge the rope. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “How easy it is to tell you’re nothing more than a farmer. No one’s ever taught you how to speak to royalty.”

Bristling, the food taster suppressed a reminder that the man in front of him had once been as common as he was. “What was the point of arresting me if it wasn’t even real?”

“Oh, it was real enough.” The prince shrugged. “You stole my charm, after all. And . . .” His smile grew more feral. “And broke right through the magic on the south gate. Didn’t you?”

Cursebreaker  . . .

“That wasn’t me,” he tried, and the prince burst into a dark laugh.

“Don’t try any of that. I know what you can do.” He dangled something from his fingers—a gold chain. The food taster flinched as he realized what it was . . . and who it had come from.

“She . . . she works for you?” he asked dully.

Another sinister chuckle. “We’ll call it that.”

Again, he felt the fairylike brush of her kiss. “She . . .”

Hadn’t danced with him and listened to him ramble on because she wanted to, hadn’t cared about a damn thing he said. And that strange, sudden kiss? It had meant nothing.

She’d spooled him in, waiting for the information the prince wanted—knowing all the while her betrayal was nigh.

“Ah,” said the prince, eyeing him. “She told me, you know. The dance, the kiss. I’m almost sorry for sending the little slut after you. But  . . .” He smirked. “It seems to have worked.”

The food taster looked away, his face burning.

“Now. Let’s talk about what you’re going to do for me.”

“For you?” the food taster repeated. “I don’t think so.” The burn of torn skin chafing against rough rope seared through his wrists as he twisted them again.

The prince sighed. “Are you sure? If you do as I say, you might live another day. That power of yours is remarkably useful.”

“So I’ve heard,” he ground out. “Why would I help someone who does . . .” He tried to wrench himself free. The chair tipped slightly before settling back on the floor. “This?”

“It’s not much,” said the prince. “Merely a curse that needs breaking.”

The food taster blinked. “What?”

The curse-maker, needing a curse destroyed?

Holding up his hand, the prince said, “Family relationships can be so . . . fraught. You’re rather lucky your parents sold you off when they did.”

The food taster caught it then: the heavily disguised scent of an old curse, drifting from a ring on the prince’s finger.

“You see, I come by my gifts honestly,” said the prince tightly. “So. You’ll break this miserable piece of metal right off me. Then, you’ll prepare a poison. A lethal one.”

The food taster couldn’t breathe. “For . . . ?”

“For my mother.” The prince’s eyes gleamed. “And then I’ll take the throne, at long last.” He took a step toward the food taster. “But I can’t do any of that until this curse is gone.”

“No.” There was no thought, no question. “I won’t.” Using his gifts to orchestrate a murder?

He couldn’t.

“Perhaps you need time to consider your options,” said the prince. The food taster grunted as the gag was shoved back into his mouth. “I’ll leave you a while. I’m confident you’ll see sense—make the choice that’s best for you. And your friend, if he doesn’t simply abandon you here. Your poor peasant parents, even. I’m sure they miss their son. Perhaps they’d like a reunion?”

The veiled threat forced out a cry of horror, making the food taster choke on the cloth as it was tightly retied behind his head.

“I wonder. Would they be proud of the kind, selfless man you’ve become?”

Terror washing over him with a ferocity like he’d never felt before, he could only roar a garbled, “Hey!”

But the door was already closing.

The prince and his curse were gone.

He was alone, utterly at the mercy of his captor, and—if he wanted to survive the night, as it was rapidly becoming clear he very well might not—without much of a choice in his fate at all.

June of Doom Masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

@juneofdoom

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

[all-the-gory-details]

Whumpmas in July: Day Six

Left Behind

TW: Restraints, torture, blindfold, gag, abandoned

Whumpee flinched at the sound of the door opening, curling up and shrinking away as much as their cuffs allowed them to. It wasn't much.

They whimpered when something touched them, waiting for the pain to start again. But the hand... it was gentle.

Their blindfold was pulled away, and Whumpee squinted into the light to see-

Caretaker.

Whumpee sobbed in relief, leaning into Caretaker's hand as they pulled the gag out of their mouth.

"C-caretaker, y-you came-" they gasped, disbelief clear in their eyes.

"Shush, it's alright, I've got you," Caretaker reassured, moving to work on the cuffs securing Whumpee's hands to the wall. "Everything's gonna be fi-"

They were cut off by the sound of gunshots in the hallway, deafeningly loud. Someone was calling Caretaker's name, loud and panicked.

Caretaker paled, turning to the cuffs with a sort of desperation Whumpee had never seen before. "Damn lock won't give," they whispered under their breath, brow furrowing.

"Caretaker, where are you?!" The shout came from through the open door, and Caretaker glanced over with a wince. "We got the plans. We need to get out of here. NOW!"

Caretaker bit back a swear word, giving the lock a few more desperate tugs. "M'sorry," they gasped, and when Whumpee met their eyes, they understood.

"N-no, wait caretaker, pleas-"

Bang!

Caretaker swallowed down a sob. "I-I'll be back," they promised shakily, before standing-

turning-

running-

away-

leaving Whumpee behind.

Alone.

They stared at that door as the sounds of escape faded away, dreading the moment Whumper would return again.

Because this time, they couldn't even hope for rescue.

This time, they knew that they were on their own.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 138

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[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Patient 05

Heheh little ref for Adam in my new au-

He’s definitely the most human/normal looking one of the group, though he has a lot of strange mental mutations instead of physical ones

[serickswrites]

These Days

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, blindfold

Caretaker had collapsed at their desk, exhausted from the countless hours spent looking for Whumpee. They would not rest until Whumpee was found. Could not rest.

Because Whumper kidnapping Whumpee had been all their fault. And they couldn't live with themself if something happened to Whumpee.

Caretaker was almost too exhausted to move. Their eyes burned with each blink. Their body ached with each movement. They needed to sleep, but couldn't stomach the idea of laying still and doing nothing in the hunt for Whumpee.

But they could sit for a few moments at their desk and go through their mail. That they could do.

Caretaker put a couple of bills aside as a "later" problem. They shredded the junk mail. All that left was a small envelope. Nothing remarkable about it other than their was no return address.

Caretaker's mouth went dry as they opened the letter and several polaroid pictures tumbled out. "Whumpee," they whispered as they stared down at the pictures in their hands.

Whumpee was blindfolded and tied to a chair in each photo, their face pinched with fear. A knife flashed closer and closer to Whumpee's throat as the photos progressed. The last one, a photo with a knife pressed flush against Whumpee's throat though no blood had been drawn, had writing on the back.

"Tick tock, Caretaker. How long do you think it will take for them to bleed out? How long will you mourn them? Come find us and we can find out together."

Caretaker jumped up at Whumper's words. They didn't have time to sit here. They had to find Whumpee. Had to stop Whumper. There was no time to lose.

[3-2-whump]

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 2

<prev next>

You're still here? Okay, it's not gonna get any better for our poor boy. Do read and heed the tags/CW.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip

Also please skim this chapter and this chapter if you haven't already, because they will be referenced heavily in the story coming up

TW/CW: rape/noncon, bound and gagged and blindfolded whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, knife play, neither safe nor sane nor consensual, blood (lots of blood), victim blaming, internalized victim blaming, whumpee and whumper unknowingly triggering each other, blunt force trauma to the head (face), panic

NOTE: The inner thoughts and opinions expressed within do not align with those of the author, who themself has never and would never condone such thoughts and opinions in real life. Reader Discretion is advised.

All Thomas asked of him was to change into clothes he wouldn’t mind replacing, which usually meant that whatever Khaled wore would be torn/burned/ stained so irreparably that it’d just be thrown away after. Already based on that request, Khaled could guess he was in for a rough night. He had no idea how much worse it could get until he was blindfolded, bound, gagged, and carried out the apartment and down to the cold garage, where the hard foot-well of the back seat waited for him. The car revved to life, and his restrained body lurched forward as Thomas pulled out of the garage and drove them to fuck knows where.

Eventually they came to a stop, Thomas exchanged some words with the night-shift guard at the old house, and then they kept going until they parked. Khaled slowly started to put the pieces together. They were back at the old house, which probably meant Thomas wanted to take him downstairs, which meant whatever he wanted to do to him would be too messy or too specialized to do back at the apartment. What is he planning? Khaled wondered. He’s asked me to wear my most expendable clothes, he’s tied me up like I used to be when I was recaptured, he’s thrown me into the back like when I was recaptured-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. He blindly tilted his head toward the chill of the night and the distant sound of frogs singing. A pair of calloused hands hauled him up from the foot-well of the back seat and slung him over a broad shoulder. “Thought you could escape me this time, did you?” his master’s voice purred in his ear.

A pit of dread competed with the chill of the early spring night in his bones as Khaled realized what all this preparation had meant. Master wants to roleplay my escape attempts. He began shivering, though not just because of the cold. A warm hand rested on his buttocks to steady him as he felt himself being carried inside, through the hallway, and to the front of a very familiar door. Reliving his failed escape attempts but with an added sexual element was one of Khaled’s recurring nightmares. What cruel irony was this, that he had begged so enthusiastically no more than half an hour ago for this man to make his nightmare come true?

The familiar creak of a door opening preceded the dusty, dried-blood smell coming from the stairs leading down into the cellar. Khaled pleaded through the rag stuffed in his mouth and the tape sealed over his lips as they descended the stairs step by concrete step. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles, but all that did was dig the hard plastic further into his flesh.

The cellar in the basement was the only room in Luciano Antonio Costa’s old house that didn’t get renovated when they converted the rest of it into an office space. Mainly because its purpose as a room for torture and interrogation never went obsolete. Khaled didn’t have to see it; he’d been down in the T&I cellar enough times to have the layout committed to memory. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps hung by thick chains, illuminating the large expanse below. A fireplace and all its accompanying iron tools sat to the left, and a rack lined with various instruments of torture was positioned to the right. In the middle was one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and many other types of equipment were either shoved in a corner or hanging from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains and hooks like morbid chandeliers. Partitioning a back portion of the room was a large iron gate leading to a small offshoot of the basement, much like a door to a prison cell. Not much lay beyond the iron gate besides a hard-worn bench and several opaque plastic storage tubs full of mysterious items.

Khaled squirmed as he was lowered onto his stomach on top of the familiar table. “What were you thinking,” scolded the nightmare looming above him. A faint swish of a pocket knife and cold steel next to his skin made Khaled pause his struggles as his master cut away the zip ties. “Escaping in this cold weather without so much as a scrap of clothing on you –did you even have a plan?” he taunted. “I don’t know what your plan was, or even if you had a plan, but was it really worth freezing yourself to death?”

Khaled enjoyed the freedom of his unbound limbs for only a moment until his wrists were snatched into a tight grip and gathered in front of him. A coarse and scratchy material –rope, most likely –began entangling around and in between his wrists as his master continued talking. “We have a tracking chip installed inside of you, remember? You can never escape me; I will always find you.” With a forceful tug, Khaled’s hands were pulled in front of him, then he couldn’t move his hands at all. The other end of the rope must have been tied off to the ring attachment at the edge of the table.

His ankles remained free, if only to make it easier to take his pants off.

There were some light shuffling noises before the wooden table groaned under a newfound weight. Khaled felt the body heat of another person leaning over him. The cologne Thomas wore quickly overpowered his senses as the man hovered close. Khaled could feel his master’s breath on his ear and something hard and stiff against his backside. “The last time you tried to run away, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons,” Thomas sultrily whispered.

Oh god no. By now, Khaled knew which escape attempt they were reenacting, and, coincidentally, it was the one he had nightmares about the most.

“I don’t want to permanently cripple you though,” Thomas sighed, “mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

He could already hear the hiss of the iron.

His panicked cries took on a new pitch of desperation. Without warning, his master’s fingers pinched at the edge of the duct tape on Khaled’s mouth and pulled, making him scream in pain. The rag was quickly removed, only for his tormentor to shove his index and middle fingers past the boy’s teeth to depress his tongue. “Suck,” he growled, “because this is the only lube you’re going to get.”

“Please, no, not this one, please, please no, not this, not this,” Khaled begged around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers quickly withdrew before Khaled’s head was yanked back by the hair and then smashed onto the table. Stars danced across his blindfold, and a faint trickle of something warm and wet escaped from his nose.

“Let’s try this again.” Thomas shoved his fingers back into the boy’s mouth, burying them to the knuckle and making the boy gag. “Suck.”

Khaled shakily worked his head up and down the length of the fingers as his tongue lapped at each digit. He started to cry. As soon as the fingers withdrew, his pleas picked up again in earnest. “Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me-”

“Would you relax?! I’m not going to burn you!” Thomas shouted above him. “What about any of this looks like I’m gonna burn you?!” Khaled heard a frustrated huff above him as his master yanked down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare ass and legs to the cold. The shed clothing was discarded, landing with a soft whump somewhere behind them. The two digits that were in his mouth forcefully entered him below, all pretense of play forgotten as they began roughly working him open. “Besides which, weren’t you the one who wanted to do this? You asked for this, you wanted this! You said you would be good for me!”

And he was right, he did say he wanted this. He asked for this to happen. So, with a defeated sniffle, Khaled went quiet and limp.

“So, are you going to be good for me now?”

Khaled’s bruised forehead scraped against the table as he nodded.

“Thank fuck,” Thomas grumbled.

I asked for this, Khaled told himself. The darkness around his eyes became damp as the blindfold caught his tears. I asked for this, I wanted this. He repeated it like a mantra as the man on top of him replaced his fingers with his cock and steadily screwed him against the table. I asked for this, I wanted this. Something tore down there as an unmistakable thin, warm, and sticky fluid trickled past the cock pummeling his hole. I wanted this. I wanted this…

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this. Any of this.

I don’t want this. Slowly, the new mantra gained strength, and he let the words slip between his lips with every shuddering breath. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this-”

“Tough shit,” his master grunted.

Khaled pulled against the rope restraining his hands as he struggled against the body pressing into his. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I-” Again, Khaled’s face was smashed against the table. He heard a faint crunch as a new river of blood flowed out of his nose.

“You can scream all you want, nobody’s going to hear you,” Thomas growled, “but for fucks sakes, can you please scream something less annoying?!”

Khaled kept repeating it between every sniffle, like a sad broken record. “I don’t want this,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this… I don’t want this…”

His begging finally outwore Thomas’ need to finish. “Fuck,” his master huffed, unsticking his sweaty torso from Khaled’s clothed back as he pulled out of him. Khaled collected his heaving breaths. It would be too naïve of him to believe his bitchy whining finally got through, but he would appreciate this moment while he could.

He suppressed his sobs and tilted his head to follow the footsteps and shuffling sounds Thomas was making as he tried to guess what would happen to him next. Khaled heard the faint schwing of a different knife being unsheathed. It cut through the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as his master finally completely undressed him, tearing away the scraps of cotton the knife didn’t excise from his body. “You said you would be good for me, but you have been anything but!” A twisted strip of cloth was wedged between his teeth and hastily tied off at the back of his head. His master’s hand pinned him down by the back of the neck, crushing him against the table with the weight behind it. “You said you missed me, but you’ve only fought against me this whole time!” Khaled screamed into the gag as the tip of the knife sank in between his shoulder blades. Its blade dragged tortuously and deliberately through his skin as his tormentor continued griping above him. “You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The knife mercifully lifted from the trough it had carved, only to be plunged into a new area of Khaled’s back. “Do you know what I do to liars, boy? I make them pay!” The raw wounds on his back wept with blood as the knife kept slicing, spilling over his sides and pooling underneath his stomach and the table below. It was hard to cry with a gag in his mouth and a broken nose full of blood. He gasped for breaths between sobs, never quite getting a satisfying breath before the pain of the knife would make him scream again. His tears slipped past the saturated blindfold and tracked down his cheeks to join the pinkish smear of saliva, snot, and blood he could feel covering the lower half of his face. “This is for Callahan!” The knife drove down and sliced another line through his skin for each name the monster dropped. “This is for Trémeaux! And Robinson, and Martinez, and Kruger, and Kościelsky, and this-” The knife dug deeper this time. Khaled bit into the gag as his nerves screamed in agony, the steel scraping something hard as it dragged against his back. “-this is for my brother; he is never coming back! Tony is never coming back, and it’s all because of you!” the monster above him roared.

It was in that moment, between the terror and the pain, that Khaled realized with a fascinated horror that his master was reliving a nightmare, too. I need to snap him out of it if I’m getting out of this cellar alive, he realized. So, he set his own trauma and pain aside and began doing what got him into this mess in the first place. The twisted cloth had loosened just enough. He pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue and started begging as if his life depended on it, because this time, it really did.

“I didn’t kill him!” he cried.  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!” Khaled screamed well past the point his throat hurt. “Master, please, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill any of them! I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him, Master, I didn’t kill him…” If the knife had stopped cutting into him and the rope around his wrists had been untied, Khaled was too far gone in his panic induced catatonia to notice. “I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him…” he rasped through a throat torn raw from screaming.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood