#Captivity Whump

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

whumpee who is given an electric collar that only ever goes off when they try to escape. whumper, after watching whumpee become terrified of even approaching the exit, turns the collar off and never tells them.

whumper leaves the door wide open, goes in and out as they please. they even leave doors and windows outside the room open for whumpee to longingly stare at. they know whumpee will never muster the courage.

[defire]

Why I like tormenting the funny ones

(kidnapped whumpee vibes)

They start off making jokes. Watching their face fall into terror as whumper approaches with a knife

The disbelief the first time. "Wait, you're not gonna, wait, wait!" Wriggling away as far as they can in their restraints.

More denial, calling for help way too much until whumper gets fed up and gags them

After holding in a scream of pain and keeping it down to harsh grunting, making a snarky remark. "Is that the best you can do, sweetheart?"

After said snarky remark, whumper turns with that "you did not just say that to me." Face. And whumpee turns away and forces a chuckle, knowing it's about to get 10 times worse.

The groan that they try to make sound like laughter.

Reflexive/compulsive joking that they can't stop, it's a trauma response. And it pisses whumper off. *Cue whumper trying to beat it out of them*

"Shit, whumper, don't kill me all at once." Whumper, picking up a whip. "I warned you not to say one more word."

Whumper torturing them with exquisite slowness so they can watch whumpee's face go from forced smile, to red, swollen-faced breath holding as they try not to cry

"I'm sorry," laughing nervously at first. Changing to crying and begging, "whatever I did, I'm sorry, please!!"

When they're so defeated, panting hoarsely after so much screaming, and they stop smiling. Not daring to speak, even to look at whumper.

Or as they raise their head cautiously, whumpee just stares at whumper, lips quivering, hanging onto the last of their sanity by a thread.

Whumper leaving and whumpee just crumples to the floor, hand over their face, grimacing as they try to recover

[whumpitisthen]

Leashed to the floor by a short lenght of chain. The chain has just enough give to let them scramble back just a couple inches, low to the ground on their hands and knees, when they get scared. They can't even look up from how hard the unforgiving leash pulls their neck back towards the ground unless they stay where they are supposed to, right where whumper wants them to be.

[the-bloody-sadist]

Full on twt just in case it’s too intense for tumblr 💀 SEE HERE

I accidentally got addicted to HSR because of chicken wing boy by the way, didn’t expect to love aventurine while I was at it

[whumpy-wyrms]

some random whumpy doodles i forgor i made :P teehee

[whumblr]

I, too, like the trope 'forced to listen' with hearing agonising screams from the room at the other side of the cell block.

But I'd like to raise with:

Hearing a single gunshot followed by earth shattering silence from the room at the other side of the cell block.

[whump-queen]

“C’mon mutt, look at the camera. Your owner wants to make sure you’re still breathing.”

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee was used to having nightmares, they were used to waking up in a cold sweat and trying desperately to comfort themselves- but they weren’t used to someone knowing. The caretaker just wanted to comfort their friend through it all, staying with the whumpee for a while, until they felt even a little better- they just wanted to be there for them. The whumpee just doesn’t know what to do with the change in routine, because the caretaker was there for them every time they woke up crying.

[holidayinhell]

The Laundry Room

Characters: creepy/intimate Whumper, captive Whumpee CWs: captivity, noncon (mostly implied but eh), sexual/noncon nudity, food denial, discussion of amputation, classic whump shiz

In the early days of his captivity, Whumpee was allowed to sleep on the couch in the basement. Now he spent his days chained up on the floor of the wash room, tethered to the column in the center of the laundry room with a radius of no more than twenty feet to roam about. The cold of the cellar was inescapable. Sometimes, late at night, he would secretly turn on the dryer on its lowest setting and press his face to its warmth. It was one of the only good things left in his life anymore. Now all he had to look forward to was the sweet release of sleep and laundry day once a week.

“Whuuuum-peeeee!” Called a singsong voice from the top of the steps.

Whumpee swallowed. No matter how many times this happened, he was never prepared for it.

The wooden steps creaked in protest under Whumper’s heavy boots. The tall man rounded the corner of the basement into the subterranean laundry room, where he found his favorite captive chained to the central support beam, exactly where he’d left him.

“Got a little something to keep you busy.” Whumper grinned, dumping the contents of the laundry basket he was holding onto the floor. “Turn around.”

Before he finished giving the command, Whumpee had already presented his captor with the zip ties securing his wrists behind his back. Normally Whumper would remove the binds the moment he got home, but he'd had already been back for hours. Maybe he was busy with something else. Or maybe he did it on purpose.

Whumper retrieved his switchblade from his pocked and flipped it open.

“So I saw something on the news again today.” Whumper informed his captive, snapping the plastic ties with his knife.

“Apparently someone found an old hat in the woods. They think that it’s one of yours. It started another search for you, if you can goddamn believe it, and it’s even bigger than before. There’s helicopters and scent tracing dogs and all.”

Whumper unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his pants. “That’s some crazy persistence, all for one person. Like, move on with your lives, people. What’s it been, a whole year now?”

“Ten months.” Whumpee replied weakly, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.

“Shietttt, has it really been that long? I was just kidding.” Whumper said playfully, his voice laced with something sinister. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun.”

Fun. Is that what this was?

“I’m just glad they haven’t given up hope yet.”

Whumpee knew he’d misspoke the second the words left his mouth.

“Wrong, Whumpee.” The air went heavy. Whumper shot a disdainful glance at Whumpee, his eyes narrowing with contempt. “People need to stop searching. They need to give up already.”

Whumper was still clutching his leather belt in his hands. For the sake of his physical wellbeing, Whumpee decided to ignore the comment completely.

“Uh, so separate these by color, then?” Whumpee asked as he pawed through the dirty laundry on the floor, desperate to change the subject.

Whumper’s mind was still on the search. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, like usual. Remember to run the sheets—“

“On delicate mode?” Whumpee finished his thought. “Mhmm. Got it.”

Whumpee busied himself by sorting through the dirty laundry pile while Whumper loomed by the room’s entrance. Whumpee watched him cautiously from the corner of his eye. The sociopath was silently brooding, his eyes fixed on Whumpee’s form.

He wished Whumper would fuck off and go back upstairs.

Doing laundry once a week was one of the only tasks he was allowed to do, and as depressing as it was, he actually looked forward to it. It was one of the only things he had to keep himself entertained with. 

In the early days of his captivity, Whumper had allowed him to watch the small tv in the basement living room and provided him with an endless supply of magazines and books. And to think, Whumpee thought he was a prisoner back then. Like most everything in Whumpee’s life, his privileges had been taken away one by one. 

Whumper removed the tv within the first month. He never gave Whumpee a reason why. Next were the books. Then the couch. And soon enough, Whumpee found himself chained to a pole with his wrists zip-tied behind him for ten hours at a time, praying that his captor would at least remember to feed him that day.

Whumpee started a pile of lights, darks, and colors, sorting each garment into its designated pile. Whumper remained in the doorway and watching his captive intently, his presence entirely unwelcome.

“So, um. Did you make something good for dinner?” Whumpee piped up, breaking the tension of the silence.

Ever since he’d been captured all his brain would fixate on was food, and the only thing he could think about currently was the sumptuous meaty smell that had been tantalizing his tastebuds for the past hour.

“Mmm.” Whumper nodded, crossing his arms and stepping into the room. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Garlic bread too, just from the store.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened hungrily.

“No leftovers I’m afraid.” He added.

“Oh.” 

Whumpee crumbled in on himself. That meant no dinner tonight.

Whumpee opened the cabinet above the sink to retrieve a box of detergent. He popped off the lid and scooped the plastic measuring cup into the powder, leveling the mountain of excess with a swipe of his finger.

“You should wash your clothes as well, Whumpee.” The tall man remarked from across the room.

“Uh, yeah. I will.” Whumpee agreed, continuing to avoid eye contact. He placed the pre-measured cup of detergent on the counter, turning to gather up the sorted pile of white clothes from the floor. He chucked them into the washing machine, sprinkled the soap crystals on top, and closed the lid.

He really wished Whumper would go away now, but the tall man stood firmly in place. Whumpee knew where this was going.

“I said you should wash them, Whumpee. That means to take them off.” 

Whumpee stiffened. God fucking damn it. 

Not right now. Not that he wanted to go through this shit ever, but Whumper seemed to be in an especially odd mood this evening.

Whumpee did as he was commanded. It wasn’t worth the fight. He lifted his pale blue button-up over his head, not bothering to unclasp the buttons, and tossed it into the pile of colors. He removed his socks and pants and did the same. Finally he stood in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, awkwardly shimmying them down his thighs until they slid down his legs and hung at his ankles. Blushing, he stepped out of them and walked over to the washing machine, chucking the underwear into the load of whites as it filled with water. 

A chill rocked his body when Whumper approached from behind.

The larger man pushed his hips into Whumpee’s back, pinning him squarely against the machine as it hummed to life. “Mmm. I should make you walk around naked all the time. Don’t you think?”

“It, uh�� it gets really cold down here.”

“Psht.” Whumper draped his arms around Whumpee’s neck. “So I’ll buy you an electric blanket. That’d be nice, right?”

“Sure. But, please, I really do need my clothes.”

Whumper’s arms traveled down the sides of Whumpee’s torso and trailed inwards to find his ass. One hand delivered a crisp smack, which immediately left behind a glowing red mark. He smiled, scooping a buttcheek into each palm, jiggling what little flesh was there.

“Your ass is so tiny.” Whumpee quipped.

Yeah, that’s what happens when you average 400 calories a day for nearly a year.

“Yeah. I’m pretty skinny now.”

“You look good like this.” Whumper purred into his ear as he delicately stroked the length of Whumpee’s back. “But I do miss the ass.”

Time to go away now, Whumpee thought. Please, please just go the fuck away.

Whumper smacked Whumpee’s ass again, scooping it up and grinding the denim fabric on his crotch against the thin man’s perfect, bare skin while caressing his neck with his hot, wet tongue. He took Whumpee’s earlobe into his mouth and suckled it lightly, biting down on the soft flesh with only a tiny amount of pressure.

“Mm, you have goosebumps.” Whumper murmured with a self-satisfied grin. “Did that turn you on?”

Two of Whumper’s fingers traced the curvature of his ass and found Whumpee’s entrance. The digits dabbed at the hole gently, teasing and prodding the skin but never pushing inside. The firm touch sent an involuntary shiver up Whumpee’s spine. Whumper smirked at his reaction and nibbled at the side of Whumpee’s neck.

He was so cold, the warmth on his neck felt good. But nothing else did.

“I keep thinking,” Whumper cooed, Whumpee melting into him for heat. “Maybe it’s finally time to give your friends closure. Feels cruel to keep dragging things out like this. They need to stop looking for you.”

For the first time in months, Whumpee felt a vague twinge of hope. 

“What? You mean that you’ll--?”

“What I mean is, they’ll be looking for a body.”

Oh. Oh no.

“W-what?” Whumpee stammered. He twisted out from under Whumper, his chain rattling against the floor as he side-stepped his captor. “What does that mean?”

“I feel a little guilty about it. The search for you has been going on for ages, and now they’re bringing out helicopters and shit? That’s a waste of taxpayer money. The cops could be out there doing real good.”

“No. What did you mean by ‘body’?”

“I was thinking we could chop off one of your legs or something. Maybe just a foot.” 

“No!” Whumpee shrieked. “You can’t!” He delivered a feeble push against Whumper’s chest, pivoting out from underneath him. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud, he pressed his hands to cover them and doubled over in fear.

The reaction took Whumper by surprise. “Bad joke.” he offered, placing a calming hand on the other’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t a joke.

The tall man rubbed his captive���s back until Whumpee’s breath finally evened out. It felt like a betrayal, the way his body responded so well to Whumper’s comforting touch. He jerked away from the sociopath’s reach.

Whumpee blinked incredulously at the man, his cheeks burning with anger. “Don’t.” he spat.

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

“Excuse me? Don’t I fucking dare do what?”

“Don’t fucking joke about mutilating me!” Whumpee shouted.

“Hey.” Whumper cautioned. “You’re being too goddamn loud right now.”

Whumpee was frenzied, his chain skittered around as he paced around in a tight circle, pulling at chunks of his hair.

“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Whumpee demanded. “How much fucking longer!?”

“As long as I goddamn like.”

“Just let me go. Just please…” Whumpee pled tearfully, his emotions see-sawing violently between anger and complete despair. “You got what you wanted from me. Why won’t you let me leave…?”

Whumper shrugged. “It never was a part of the plan.”

“Fuck you!” The captive yelled. “I fucking hate you!”

“Whumpee.” Whumper warned with a stern finger, “it’s time to shut the fuck up.”

“I HATE Y—!”

Whumper grabbed a length of chain from the floor and yanked it towards him, forcing Whumpee to the ground by the shackle around his ankle.

Whumper continued pulling the chain into himself, dragging Whumpee’s body across the cold cement floor with every tug. It all happened too quickly for Whumpee to process.

“I should bash your face into the concrete again.” He growled, standing over his collapsed body. Whumpee could taste blood in his mouth. “But I’ll give you one last chance. I guess I didn’t say it explicitly enough last time, so hopefully this time it fucking sinks in: you are here to stay. There will be no more talk of kidnapping, or rescue, or freedom, or fucking escaping. No more of that. You’re here. You’re mine. This house--no--this room, is your whole fucking world, and I am your god. Get used to it.”

Whumpee lifted his head slightly and shot a fiery glance in Whumper’s direction.

“You better wipe that look off your pathetic face while you’ve still got one.” Whumper flicked his switchblade open.

He lifted one of his boots and rested its rubber sole on Whumpee’s back, pressing him into the floor. Brandishing the knife overhead, he commanded Whumpee: “Show me why I choose to keep you around. Remind me that you haven’t fucking forgotten your sole purpose in life, or I’ll saw your leg off right fucking now.”

Face-down on the floor, Whumpee let out a sigh so small only he could hear it.

He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have any other options. Silent tears rushed down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor.

And so out of self-preservation, Whumpee thrust his hips into the air and pushed his face to the floor, his bare ass on full display. He shifted weight into his palms and spread his legs out, his dick and balls tumbled forward, swaying slightly while he found his balance. His hands reached back behind him, blindly tracing the outsides of his thighs, following a line up and over to the round cleft of his butt cheeks.

Choking down a sob, he forced his ass apart. He disgracefully presented his hole before Whumper’s shining, ravenous eyes.

The captor’s jeans fell to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, settling himself in the space between Whumpee’s open legs. 

“When I’m done with you, you are going to fucking thank me like your life depends on it.”

The sudden, high-pitched beep of the washing machine pierced the quiet of the room, signalling that the washing was done. 

Whumpee didn’t dare move an inch.

“And after I’ve filled you up,” Whumper’s hot breath hit his ear. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly which limb to cut off.”

((more Whump oneshots))

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Captivity, implied multiple whumpers, muzzles, gags, defiant whumpee, touch starvation, starvation.

Whumpee stopped fighting years ago, but Whumper believes that it's all an act to convince them to ease up on the restrictions.

So, even though Whumpee has no intention of biting anymore, they still have to wear a muzzle, gag or metal bit at all times.

Even though they no longer dream of escaping, they're still confined to the basement of the house; a room with no windows and a door that's bolted shut whenever Whumper isn't around.

Even though they'd do anything to be held in someone's arms, nobody but Whumper is allowed to visit the basement alone, and nobody is allowed to touch them, for the safety of everyone else.

They're still forced to wear thick fingerless gloves to stop them from scratching.

People refuse their requests to be fed out of concern that they'll return to their aggressive state if they regain their strength.

No matter how much they yearn to prove that they've changed, Whumper will never give them that opportunity.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

whumpee looking at themself in the mirror after a particularly gruelling experiment, or perhaps a series of experiments, that changed them physically. seeing what had changed; what they had gained, what they had lost. looking at their own reflection and not recognizing the gaunt, tired face staring back at them

[defire]

Defiant whumpees joking around with whumper

Content: degradation, beating, whipping

Whumper doesn't slap them for their sarcastic comments, instead they laugh

Randomly punishes defiant whumpee for their sass, but not consistently enough to make it stick. They don't actually want whumpee to stop, it's entertaining.

"I think you're enjoying torturing me too much." "No such thing as too much fun."

Whumper coming back down to the basement where whumpee is tied up. "What's it gonna be this time, whumper?" "Oh, maybe the brass knuckles today." *Whumpee goes silent.*

Whumpee trying even harder to push whumper's buttons and getting a laugh and ten lashes for it.

Over time whumpee stops joking. They get that dead, glassy-eyed look as the last piece of their personality is erased.

Whumper ordering them to sass them so they can punish them for it. But also punishing them for not speaking.

"it's alright." Whumpee mutters. "I know I'm just a piece of shit. you don't have to keep trying to prove it."

[whumpitisthen]

Masterlist

Whumper approaching Whumpee and Whumpee just knows. They can see it in Whumper's eyes, the fists by their sides, the way they stalk right at them — they messed up. They messed up and now they will be punished.

"Sorry, I'm sorry — !" — is all they usually manage to get out before they are slammed into a wall or dragged to a corner and beaten, tortured, then it's mostly just begging and cries.

Whumpee stops asking what they did wrong. They just say they are sorry and take their punishment without fighting. Clearly they did something wrong, and no matter how many times they plead and try to do better, they never get good enough for Whumper. Why even ask? They barely answer half the time anyway.

Sometimes it just pisses them off more. 'You apologised and you don't even know why? You're not sorry; not yet. But I can show you.'

Whumper stops waiting for the moment Whumpee messes up eventually. They decide on the spot, whenever they feel like Whumpee is ready to take some pain, and walk up to them, schooling their expression and squaring their shoulders, signalling that it's time. They don't need an excuse, Whumpee won't even ask for one, and they shouldn't need one anyway. They will be hurt, and as long as they keep taking it so well, they have nothing else to worry about. The less they complain, the better.

And it gets worse, worse every time. It was just beatings to begin with, bruises and a little blood, then there were blades, a whip, broken bones, drowning, burning, electricity. Stress positions so they hurt even when they are alone. Less food, less sleep, less decency. They tried to be as good as they possibly could, to an embarrassing, humiliating degree they didn't know they were capable of, and it worked sometimes. They would be hurt all the same, but they got told they took it well, and they weren't being handled as roughly, and it felt like time would pass a little faster. There is less anger, and a little more fondness. Gentler touches as well as painful ones. Cooing as well as promises of pain. They have no choice but to get used to it.

And they'll apologise every time, even when nothing is happening. They quietly mutter a sorry when they touch them, when they flinch, when they look them in the eyes, when they have a bad thought, when they forget they apologised already. It doesn't make it better, but it has yet to make it worse, and there must be a reason they get hurt, there has to be something there, something they are doing wrong all the time. It can't just be for no reason.

Sometimes they apologise to themself. No one is in the room, no one can hear them, but they mutter a sorry anyway. Just in case. Just in case the space between these four walls thinks they aren't being sorry enough. They apologise to themself, but they can't forgive themself. It wasn't always like this. They weren't always stuck chained in a little room, waiting for pain. They were free, once. They were only beaten, then let go. They were allowed dignity, however hard it is to believe, even when they pissed off their captor.

But they messed up. They messed up so many times. Even if they could do everything perfectly, even if all their mistakes would magically be forgiven, it't far too late now. Whumper loves them like this. They love how well they take pain, how used to this they have become, how easy it is to scare them, how little power they have over what happens to them. They won't let them go now. They will never be good enough. And they will never forgive themself for that.

Taglist: @morning-star-whump @whumprince

[the-bloody-sadist]

Anon comm for their OCs! 🫶

[friendlyforestbeast]

Evil creature

———

Just wanted to draw some angst, it’s been a while

[doorlampwrites]

What if I want whump but like. Comfort. Comfort whump. No no not fluff, I need the zing!! I need the fascination of an awful relationship but like. Comforting. Yes they kidnapped them but like... put them in a comfy bed. With the big floofy sheets and weighted blankets. Yes... yes... the head pats... No it's controlling I swear. They kidnapped them this is whump I promise they’re scared (they’re just also so content and warm)