#Whumpee is about to get knocked out by whumper and the last thing they say is “what the sigma”

[wildcard-whumps]

i just imagined brainrot terms in whump and this is the worst thought i have ever thunk 😭

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumper led Leader through the dungeon halls.

"I can't believe I have the great Leader in my possession. You're here, shackled at the end of my chain", Whumper grinned enthusiastically, "I'm just such a fan of yours. I truly wish we weren't enemies."

"I won't be here long, my team is probably already on the way", Leader looked at them angrily, "I'm only doing this willingly because of my injuries you've caused."

Whumper frowned, and gave a harsh pull to the chain they were leading Leader with.

Leader stumbled forward and dropped to their knees.

"Knock it off", Leader yelled as they tried to stand up again.

"Keep yelling, it goes well with the back ground noise... don't you agree?", Whumper chuckled.

Leader took in the sounds of screams coming from different parts of the dungeon.

"No", Leader watched Whumper start walking and jerked the chain back.

Whumper lost grip of the chain for a second before grabbing it again.

"Okay, you know what?", Whumper frowned as they pulled out a short whip and hit Leader, "behave."

Leader groaned from the impact.

Whumper stopped in front of a cell.

"I'm afraid I don't have any free rooms. Had I known I'd have such an honored guest I would have prepared", Whumper slammed the door open, "for right now, I'm rooming you with Whumpee. I hope you don't mind."

Leader allowed Whumper to lead them into the room and chain them to a length of chain welded to the floor.

Leader eyed a dirty, bloody person curled up on the floor.

"Are they even alive?", Leader watched for movement.

"They were this morning before their beating", Whumper went and grabbed a fistful of hair.

"Yoo-hoo, Whumpee.... you here still?"

The person winced as their head was forced up.

"Yes they're alive... good, I'd hate to see my favorite play thing dead", Whumper chuckled, then looked at Leader.

"If they get to be annoying just tell them to shut up... call a guard if they don't listen. Guards will straighten them right out."

Leader frowned as they watched Whumper leave.

They glanced over at the beaten human, and caught a single eye poking out from under their arms. They quickly buried their face once they were caught.

"Whumpee I presume", Leader sat down.

They cautiously looked up and nodded.

"I'm Leader, I'm glad to meet you", Leader leaned back against the wall.

"Th-thankyou", Whumpee whispered hoarsely, "I hope I won't bother you."

"You won't", Leader smiled, "don't worry."

"Dinner", a guard carried in a flimsy paper plate and handed it to Leader.

Leader looked at the plate and tried to hide their disgust, "Uh, thanks."

The guard went to leave and Leader realized Whumpee hadn't received anything.

"What about them?", Leader called after the guard.

"Trash isn't allowed to eat unless their Master says... if they're lucky Whumper will send them a few table scraps", the guard chuckled before slamming the door.

Whumpee continued to lay down not bothering to look up.

"Whumpee I hate to ask.... how long has it been since you've eaten an actual meal. Not just scraps?", Leader frowned.

Whumpee looked up weakly, "a long time. Honestly I haven't even had scraps for a while either. They get dished out amongst the others being starved. I'm last on the list normally."

"Here eat this", Leader tried to get up and pass the food, "it's not amazing, but it's something at least."

"I can't", Whumpee frowned, "Master will force me to throw it up. They are giving you permission to eat. Many of us prisoners don't get that, enjoy it", Whumpee rested their head on their arms.

Leader's heart sank.

"Can I tell you my dream meal", Whumpee sighed, "I often think about it when I know they're passing food to those allowed to eat. If you don't want to hear it though, I understand."

"No please tell me", Leader insisted, "I don't know if I'll be able to gut this. That might help."

"It's starts with warm freshly baked bread, and soup. I don't care what kind of soup", Whumpee looked up at Leader then at the floor, "I could eat so many different things right now. I remember the team I was with would have pizza every Monday. It was great. I think pizza and salad would follow the soup and bread. Dessert, hmm. A birthday cake, I've missed so many birthdays being here, it's just sounds so good."

Leader watched as Whumpee came to life. This was the most they had said since Leader was brought in there.

"That all sounds delicious... definitely better than this", Leader frowned.

After a few minutes of silence Leader looked at Whumpee who seemed to still be thinking about food.

"You said you belonged to a team?", Leader tried to take another bite, "I can't eat this."

"Yes, we were captured together by Whumper. They managed to break out, but said I'd slow them down because I was injured. I was left behind. I've received multiple beatings on their behalf", Whumpee looked down, "it's hard... I understand that I was the weakest one and injured. I wasn't important and I accepted that. Still I wish to have seen at least a glimmer of sorrow as they slipped out."

Leader stared sadly, "I am truly sorry that your team did that. I lead a team, and I don't think I could ever leave one of my people. We either all get out or not at all. I'm supposed to take care of them, that's why I was made Leader."

"I wish I could have been in your team then", Whumpee sighed, "you are so nice to me. My team was never like that."

"I'm sorry Whumpee", Leader frowned, "I truly am. No one deserves any of this."

During the night, Leader could hear muffled crying in the room.

Leader unfortunately also heard Whumpee's stomach growling. No one had come into the room after Leader was given food. Whumpee wasn't given any scraps, and they were to afraid to eat from Leader's food.

In the morning, Whumpee woke up to the sound of chains clanking around.

They looked up to see Leader studying the shackles.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'm trying to see how easy this would be to pick", Leader smiled sheepishly, "one of my teammates is really good at picking locks. I'm hoping they will be able to get these undone."

"Do you think they will be coming for you?", Whumpee questioned curiously.

"I hope so, Caretaker and I have a rematch coming up", Leader continued to smile, "though I guess they win by default if I'm here."

The door opened and Whumper came in.

"How did my favorite prisoners sleep last night?", Whumper grinned, "I slept like a baby in my bed."

Whumper menacingly approached Whumpee, "you're not being annoying are you? They are an honored guest."

Whumper kicked Whumpee's side harshly.

Whumpee screamed and cowarded away.

Leader watched in horror.

"Please Master, your slave is being good... I-I'm a good slave", Whumpee cried.

"Stop it", Leader quickly stood.

"What are you going to do about it", Whumper turned and slapped Leader across the face, "you have no power in here."

Whumper shook their head at both of them, "see if either of you receive any food for the next few days", Whumper turned to leave, "we'll see how we are feeling after that."

Whumpee winced as they laid back down.

"Are you okay?", Leader tried to get closer, but was limited by the chains.

Whumpee moved in a way that revealed one of their legs had been amputated at the knee.

"I-I'm okay, are you? You shouldn't have done that, I'm not worth it, now you're in trouble", Whumpee looked down.

"It's okay Whumpee, do not worry about me", Leader sighed, "can I ask what happened to your leg?"

"Do you... do you remember what I said about being injured and my team leaving me. I had gotten badly injured while being captured. I couldn't walk well. After a while, it had gotten infected. Master enjoyed hurting me so much, they decided to amputate me, and help fight the infection. It's healed now... this was a few years ago."

Whumpee moved their leg around to show it more, "it's gross looking, the person who did it was not a doctor, but it healed so that's good. I'd rather have died though."

Into the afternoon a loud explosion made both Whumpee and Leader jump.

Whumpee looked at Leader with concern, "what was that?"

"If I'm not mistaken that was a good sign", Leader grinned, "that sounds like an explosion from Tunnel Rat."

"Tunnel Rat?", Whumpee questioned.

"My explosion expert", Leader got up and tried to look out the window, "they're here."

Whumpee looked down sadly, "that's good."

After about an hour, the door was thrown open.

A gun was pointed in, then two people walked into the room.

"Leader you've been about a pain to rescue", someone complained.

"Sorry Caretaker, this wasn't exactly planned", Leader sighed.

"We've taken control over the entire hideout. Most of the guards have been destroyed. The one named Whumper has been captured, and we are awaiting your orders."

Leader watched as their shackles were removed, then looked at Whumpee happily.

"There are other prisoners here that need to be rescued. They all require medical attention and need food and water. Some are being starved. Do not rest until everyone is accounted for", Leader stepped toward Whumpee, "this one is coming with me, Caretaker meet our new team member."

Whumpee quickly looked up, "yo-you're not leaving me?"

"No, I'm not leaving you", Leader grinned, "I'm going to need someone to help you out though, I just remembered I am fairly injured myself."

Whumpee lay in a med bay bed. They had just received full medical care and were now resting.

Someone came into the room and smiled at them.

"Hello, I don't know if you'll remember me. I'm Caretaker, I carried you out", they came in and sat down.

"Leader talked about you", Whumpee whispered as they tried to sit up.

"I'm going to serve you some broth, I'm waiting for it to warm up. Leader has told me about the meal you want to eat", Caretaker smiled, "I take care of the medical needs of the team by the way."

"Yes", Whumpee nodded.

"We will definitely plan on having that after you get some strength back. We have to let your body get used to food again or you'll get very sick", Caretaker stood, "we will start off slow with the broth and move you to more solid food. After a while we will have fresh baked bread, a delicious soup, pizza, and salad. We will also have some cake. We can have that in celebration of rescuing you prisoners and you joining our team."

Whumpee's smile grew more and more with every word Caretaker said.

"Uhm, is Leader okay. I haven't seen them yet", Whumpee realized.

"Yes, we had to do a tiny surgery on them to fix the injury. Leader is resting now, and will have a full recovery soon", Caretaker went for the door, "I'll be back shortly with the broth, and I'll help you eat."

Two months went by.

Whumpee had to wait a few weeks longer due to a surgery to reamputate their leg. This time, it was done by a real doctor and had healed properly.

"Where are we going Caretaker?", Whumpee looked around the halls as Caretaker pushed their wheelchair.

"It's a surprise", Caretaker chuckled.

Whumpee had almost forgotten about the dream meal they had while in the dungeon.

Leader, Caretaker, and the team made sure Whumpee had all of the best food. Whumpee had settled into the team quite well now. They had even helped several times on different missions.

Caretaker stopped at a room and opened the door.

"It's dark in their", Whumpee whispered.

The light flicked on to reveal the whole team had gathered.

The tables were decorated for a party.

"Surprise", everyone shouted.

"Wow", Whumpee looked around excitedly, "what is all of this?"

"A celebration", Leader walked over smiling and helped Caretaker pull the chair in, "to celebrate our rescue from that place, our recovery, our team. We are so happy to have you as part of our team."

"Really", Whumpee's eyes glistened.

"We don't know why your other team didn't like you. You are awesome on missions and quite skilled", someone called out, "they missed out."

"We have a bit of a spread here", Leader pointed to the table, "you absolutely melted my heart when we were in that dungeon.... remember."

Whumpee nodded.

"I've never forgotten how excited you had gotten when you talked about your dream meal. You came to life.... we had to replicate it", Leader grinned, "of course none of us are bakers, so the bread and cake were made by a bakery."

Whumpee gasped as they remembered and looked over the table.

Sliced breads. Several pots of different soups. Boxes of pizza. Salad. At the end of the table, a giant cake.

"You really did all of this for me?", Whumpee looked at everyone with an air of shame, "I don't deserve this."

"Yes you do", Caretaker chimed in, "we absolutely believe you deserve this."

"We've also decided to have pizza on Mondays from now on", Leader reached for Whumpee, "I know we've already said this dozens of times, but welcome to the team Whumpee, it's an honor."

Whumpee felt tears come to their eyes. They shook as they started to cry.

"Thankyou", Whumpee sobbed, "thankyou so much."

"You're welcome", Leader knelt down in front of Whumpee, holding their hand, "let's get this celebration started."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand @watermeezer

[serickswrites]

Elf on the Shelf

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, gag, threat of torture, blood, wounds, stabbing, unconsciousness, used as bait, rescue, hospital

Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong and Caretaker didn't know how to make it right.

It had started with them getting into an argument with Whumpee and Whumpee storming off, mumbling something about going for a walk to clear their head. Caretaker hadn't noticed how much time had passed because they were trying to clear their head. Whumpee had been right, of course, but Caretaker needed to cool off before trying to apologize. It was only when Caretaker realized it was dark and Whumpee still hadn't returned what had happened.

It didn't take them long to get to Whumper's compound. Caretaker knew that Whumper was using Whumpee as bait for a trap, but they couldn't leave Whumpee to be tortured to death at Whumper's hand. And so they walked into the compound knowing very well that they would not likely leave, but Whumpee would.

That was wrong too.

Caretaker found Whumpee bound and gagged in the center of a room with Whumper. Whumper loosely gripped a knife in their hand as they circled Whumpee.

"Let them go," Caretaker called, not daring look Whumpee in the eye. They couldn't bear to see the terror in Whumpee's eyes.

"You know what I want, Caretaker. Are you going to give it to me?" Whumper stopped as they stood in front of Whumpee, obstructing Caretaker's view of Whumpee.

"Yes. Let them go and you can keep me." Caretaker ignored Whumpee's muffled cries of protest. If they could do one thing right today, it would be to save Whumpee. They could do that.

"Just like that?" Whumper began to smile.

Caretaker nodded. "Just like that. Now let them go, Whumper."

"Ok," Whumper said with a wicked smile and they plunged their blade into Whumpee's stomach and pulled. Blood poured from the wound as Whumpee screamed in agony. "You never specified if I had to let them go while they were alive, Caretaker. That's on you for not using your words."

Caretaker lunged at Whumper. They were going to end Whumper. They were going to make Whumper pay. They were going to stop Whumper and get Whumpee to help. And then they could say they were sorry. They would never stop saying they were sorry so long as Whumpee lived.

Whumper was easily overpowered and knocked out. But Caretaker wasn't quick enough. By the time they had gotten Whumper settled and were ready to free Whumpee, Whumpee was barely hanging on.

"Baby, I'm sorry, hold on. Baby, I've got you," Caretaker said through their tears as they made their way over to Whumpee. Whumpee was slumped over in the chair, their front shiny with blood. Their eyes were barely open and Caretaker could see Whumpee struggle to take shallow breaths.

Caretaker removed the gag first. "I'm so sorry. Whumpee, baby, so sorry," they sobbed.

"'s 'kay," Whumpee whispered. They blinked heavily as they swallowed.

"Save your strength. I'll get you out of here. And I'll get you to a doctor. And you'll be right as rain. Just stay with me, baby."

Whumpee blinked once more as Caretaker began to untie them. "Almost there, just a little more," Caretaker murmured as they unwound the coils of rope.

In their haste to free Whumpee, Caretaker knocked the hilt of the blade. Whumpee screamed once, the terrible sound ripping itself from their throat, and they went completely limp. "Baby," Caretaker said as they tapped Whumpee's cheek. "Open your eyes. Baby, stay with me. Whumpee!"

But Whumpee didn't open their eyes. Their body slumped forward as Caretaker removed the last of their bindings. "Hold on, hold on, I've got you. Hold on."

Caretaker repeated the mantra over and over. Repeated it for so long they had to believe it was true. It had to be true. They couldn't stand the thought of failing Whumpee one final time.

And so Caretaker kept a silent vigil at Whumpee's bedside. They hadn't moved from the uncomfortable hospital chair that the kind nurse had shown them to. Hadn't moved from Whumpee's side. Hadn't moved because they couldn't. They couldn't leave Whumpee alone. The last time Whumpee had been alone, Whumper had taken them. And Caretaker couldn't let the enemy lurking in the shadows take Whumpee now. So long as Caretaker kept watch over Whumpee, death couldn't claim them.

"Stay with me, baby. I'm here. I've got you. You're safe," Caretaker whispered to the silent room. "Please, Whumpee. Stay for me."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Is He Safe?

CW: Captivity, creepy whumper. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 5: Covert Identity. (Jax, as always, used with permission and oversight from @comfy-whumpee)

Takes place during Jax’s first captivity.

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

-

The ocean sounds like it’s breathing, a constant rhythm of water against the shore. Further down the way, groups of people laugh, throw beach balls, or otherwise enjoy the brilliant sunshine and growing warmth of the day.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of one of the Marcoset vacation homes, the beach is perfectly empty. Private, and privately theirs. At a white table in a white kitchen, Savvie sits, one hand laid over his, watching her best friend speak to his father on the phone. 

Jax is allowed one phone call per week, with Savvie by his side of course. She’s written out a few ideas for him on what to talk about on a little piece of paper. 

If he asks about:

How you are: Great! 

Mention foods you have eaten recently that you like

Change the subject

What you’re doing: Hanging out with friends! 

You love traveling around with me

We have a goal of seeing all fifty states! You’re really looking forward to seeing Alaska

Where you are: Tell him we’re at the beach in Florida

Seashells

Walking by the ocean

Sunshine

Talk about that concert we went to

Ask him about himself as often as possible

I will end the call if he upsets you

They’re really… optional.

Just guidelines on how to keep the conversation nice and light. He doesn’t have to use them, if he doesn’t want to, although of course he wants to. Easier, that way, it must be so much easier than trying to come up with things to talk about all on his own, right? Besides, she’s been able to keep his collar off all week here, and she’d like to not have to put it back on before they even get back home. 

Taking him out to eat and to shops feels like regular, normal life - briefly, Savvie forgets her grief over the loss of her parents, which still sometimes appears in deep waves that knock her over and leave her lying in bed weeping for a day or two on end, Jax cleaning somewhere in the house while Savvie can’t even begin to know how to go check on him or see what he’s up to. 

It doesn’t matter. He’ll just be cleaning, anyway. Unless she forgets to let him out of his room, and then he’ll just be sitting on his bed, or staring at nothing. 

“We, uh-” Jax clears his throat, and it jerks Savvie out of her reverie. She shoots him an encouraging smile, and he answers it automatically before he looks away from her again, looking out at the sea where it laps against the shore. His arm shifts under her touch, and she watches with fascination as goosebumps rise. She rubs at them, watching with delight as he shivers. His voice trembles, but only a little. His dad probably can’t hear it. “We’re in Fl-Florida, right now. Spent last week at the beach, yeah. Picking-... seashells and shit like that.”

“You picked… seashells?” There’s a note of something Savvie can’t read in Jax’s dad’s voice - he sounds almost doubtful, although it’s honestly true. Not the Florida part, but they did spend the last week at the Marcoset family beachhouse in North Carolina. Close enough. In any case, Jax absolutely spent a couple hours yesterday picking up the seashells Savvie pointed out to him, putting them into a little bag to wash and take back home. She'd even found a little bit of rock washed smooth by saltwater in the shape of a heart.

“Uh, yeah, we-... my-... my friends are into it, I guess,” Jax says, and looks at her again. She nods, and smiles, and gives his hand a little squeeze of approval. He’s doing so well. “Honestly I m-mostly just… hang out.”

“Getting a tan, then, are you?”

“B-bit of one,” Jax responds. He’s pale as a ghost, he hardly ever goes outside. When they lay out on the beach, Savvie makes him wear SPF 100+ sunscreen that lathers on as thick as chalk paste. But… his dad doesn’t need to know that either.

“Well, that’s good, then. But, Jax… these... friends of yours that you're with…”

All the conversations happen on speakerphone, but Savvie stays quiet and neither of them mention to the soft-spoken Brit on the other end that she is there. Jax knows better.

His eyes close, briefly, and then he looks steadfast out at the ocean. “They’re nice, Dad. I t-told you.”

“Right, but-”

“How’s Mam?”

The subject change isn’t done well, but his dad goes with it, answering reluctantly and allowing himself to be led away from questioning Jax’s mysterious friends. The first few times he asked, Savvie reached over and hung up the phone, and then made sure Jax didn't call him for weeks on end.

Now, Jax makes sure the wrong kind of questions stop fast. 

She isn’t forcing him to. It's not like they aren’t friends, like they aren’t on a beach trip, like he isn’t having a great time. And he can still call his dad, of course. It’s not like… a threat, or anything. Just that Jax gets so worked up, and it’s better for him to just not talk to his dad at all for a while if it’s going to cause him so much pain and worry.

That doesn’t happen anymore. Jax cuts it off before it can.

Content, Savvie curls her fingers until the tips brush against his palm, and feels his muscles twitch in response. Savvie tells herself he’s squeezing back. They’re friends now. She tells him everything, and he’s such a good listener. They go on weekly coffee dates, just as friends of course, where he sits in the sun by the window, sipping black coffee and watching Savvie as she tells him about… anything. Everything. She’s gone on three dates during this monthlong beach vacay and told him all the dirty details the morning after each one, while they wait for breakfast to be delivered from the bakery down the road.

One man she'd even brought back to the beach house, and Jax had been there, an unobtrusive presence cleaning up after breakfast that her date hadn't even asked about.

All her thoughts and feelings spill out of her with Jax, and it’s amazing. She’d been feeling so alone when her parents died, and Jax has made sure she knows she’s never, ever going to be alone again. 

He’s been such a good friend to her. And she’s been such a good friend to him in return, giving him these trips out and days off his work cleaning her house, letting him speak to his dad as long as he doesn’t start telling him lies or anything like that. Letting him come out of the shell the training place had put him into, letting him be sober most of the time instead of drugged like her uncle keeps telling her he should be.

He’s such a good friend.

He’s so good.

They’re going to be best friends for their whole lives. 

She gives his hand another little squeeze and smiles. He echoes the expression, a half-second delayed, his attention torn between her and the voice coming through the phone.

“... -coming home any time soon?” His dad asks, a little hesitantly. He’s asked that before, and Savvie’s smile briefly fades away, her brows furrowing in distaste. 

He keeps asking. 

Jax’s eyes flicker to her, searching her face for what he’s supposed to say - this isn’t written on the paper in front of him. She’d figured the old dolt would stop asking by now. She gives a slight shake of her head. 

“N-not soon, Dad, no,” Jax answers, without looking away from Savvie. The sun warms the handsome lines of his face and sets those hazel eyes to sparkling. Honestly, you could get lost in eyes like that. If she ever meets a man she wants to marry, and lets Jax date once she has someone else to spend her time with, some girl is going to fall head over heels for him just because of those pretty eyes.

She ignores a twist of some faint ugly feeling, refusing to see it as jealousy. He and his girlfriend can both work for her, that would be fine. Isaac probably has some staff he could choose from, if he wants a girlfriend or a wife. Or maybe one of the other families would have someone. Savvie would have to approve, of course. He'd have to marry someone Savvie thought was good enough for him.

Maybe she should pick someone out for him, she'd know better than he does what he needs, anyway.

“We’d like to see you,” Alfie offers, voice soft, not judging or angry. “We all miss you. Your mam, too, and your sisters-”

“I-I know, Dad.” Jax swallows. There’s a pain in his face Savvie wants so badly to soothe, to hug right out of him. She squeezes his hand again, harder this time, and he jumps a little, as if shocked back into awareness. “Sorry. You… you know h-how it is in America.”

His dad hums, noncommittal. He probably doesn’t know anything about living here, really, and Savvie can’t blame him - she knows more about Russia than she does England, and one day Jax can go with her to visit Moscow and see the ballet…

The thought makes her smile, wistful and daydreaming already about how Jax will get to see so many new things, living with her. She’ll be as good a friend to him as he’s been to her and show him so, so much…

Jax’s shoulders relax just a little bit when he sees her expression back to pleased. He chances a look back at the phone, but of course there’s nothing there but the call screen, the number, the time ticking away in seconds and minutes until Savvie tells him to say his goodbyes for another week. 

“I’ll let you know if I-I can come sometime,” Jax says. His breathing isn’t quite as steady, now. He isn’t looking at her. 

She doesn’t like him as much when he isn’t looking at her.

“Jax, are you-... are you safe?” His father’s voice softens even further, hard to hear through the phone. “Is someone keeping you from having your own phone-... I don’t know, just. We miss you. You know if you ever need to talk-”

Savvie’s eyes narrow. She leans over and firmly presses her index finger down on the red button to end the call. 

Jax exhales in a rush, looking over at her with wide eyes that look oddly hurt. She pulls the phone back to herself and turns it off in case the stupid old man calls back. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” She snaps, her good mood dissipating now, dissolving as she thinks about the question.

Are you safe?

His hands are rough, calloused and with skin that cracks and peels from the harsh chemicals that he cleans her house with. There are circles under his pretty eyes because he doesn’t sleep very well. Savvie isn’t much of a cook and the two of them mostly live on delivery and whatever can be safely popped into an oven and ignored for a while. He has scars around his neck in a little circle, like an odd reddish necklace. 

Sometimes she has him sleep in her room and she holds him, feeling the careful rise and fall of his breathing beside her. She has given him new clothes to wear when they go out and takes off his collar so no one will realize that he’s just staff. She lets him call his stupid family when Savvie should be all the family he needs, and his dad has the gall to not even be grateful for it. 

Is he safe?

What kind of question is that?

“Miss Savvie-”

“Shut up.” Jax’s mouth snaps shut, and Savvie fights a prickle of guilt, trying to tell herself it isn’t what it seems like from the outside. “Honestly, how dare he? As if I would ever let any harm come to you. How dare he!”

She throws the phone. Jax flinches when it bounces off a wall and hits the ground with a crack, shoulders hunching in an attempt at self protection. 

“He, he’s just-... w-worried, Miss Savvie-” Jax is leans away from her when she stands. She ignores it - he’s her friend, he’s not scared of her, he’s just surprised by the phone being thrown, is all. They were nasty to him at that place where he learned how to work, and he just… doesn’t like sudden movements. 

That’s all.

He knows Savvie would never really hurt him, if he’s good. 

Savvie stalks over to the fallen phone and picks it up, rolling her eyes when she sees the screen is cracked now. “Not again. Ugh, Jax, your dad drives me crazy! Maybe I should take you to see him just so he’ll stop asking all the damn time about it!”

“If-... that’s what y-you want, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, cautiously. Savvie hates this version of him the most, where he gets quiet and barely speaks. Hates even more that it’s her own anger that made him that way.

No.

It’s his dad asking stupid questions, that’s what did it. Not Savvie’s perfectly logical response to them. 

“He… he is just awful, isn’t he?” Savvie says, voice flat and angry, setting her broken phone down on the counter. She’ll have another one delivered today. “I don’t know how you can stand to even talk to him, Jax, he’s so… rude.”

Jax is silent, now. 

That rankles even more, that he doesn’t agree with her and he doesn’t argue. He just watches her, and she can feel the weight of his eyes and usually it just means he’s listening to her but right now she’s sure it means he’s judging her. 

“Right. Well, he’s clearly stressing you out.” She straightens her shoulders, taking in a deep breath. She makes her voice cheerful and relaxed, hoping her body will follow suit. “So. Here is what we’ll do. Until I think you’re okay to talk to him without getting so worked up, then we’ll take a break from the calls, huh? Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

He still doesn’t answer.

His answer is not required.

Honestly, she’d just get angrier if he did answer.

Is he safe. It circles around and around in her mind. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him. She was given a cowed, frightened, silent slave to clean her home and now he’s got his own room, his own things, he’s her very best friend. He goes everywhere she goes. She hardly even lets him out of her sight. 

Is he safe?

“Get your swimsuit on,” She says, turning away and pointing towards the stairs to the second floor, watching as he hesitantly gets to his feet, watching her still. “We’re going swimming.”

“M-Miss Savvie-”

“Not one word about it, Jax. You can talk to that nasty creep again when I am damn good and ready.” She finally looks back at him. "You don't belong to him, Jax. You don't owe him anything."

“Yes, Miss Savvie.” Whatever he must see in her eyes keeps him from trying to talk it out any further. Good. 

He heads for the stairs, and she falls in just behind, running her fingers over the cracks in her phone screen, her skin catching at the edge of one, just a little.

Is he safe?

He’s the safest he’s ever been.

As long as he doesn't care about anyone else more than he cares about her. 

-

@whumpyourdamnpears @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlin-always-writing @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @iaminamoodymoodtoday @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @thefancydoughnut @mylifeisonthebookshelf @whumpinggrounds

[em-writes-stuff]

"Why won't it stop"

day 8 of @febuwhump

whumpee, caretaker

766 words

warnings: past abuse discussed, cursing, insomnia, nightmares

~

Caretaker closes Whumpee’s door, making sure to stay quiet as they turn the knob so he stays asleep. They sigh in relief after a few moments of standing still, their ear close to the door. They walk down the hallway and collapse on the sofa, barely able to remember to plug their phone in before falling asleep. 

Whumpee wakes with a start, he pushes himself up with his elbows and frantically looks around the room. 

The nightmare that woke him is quickly disappearing from his memory and all that remains are the phantom hands tracing over his skin. Through his hair, over his chest, his arms, nails digging into his legs. He pulls his blanket tighter around himself and taps rhythmically over his heart with his thumb. 

Slowly, his heartbeat and breathing slows enough to the point where he can convince himself he’s safe. He takes inventory of the room. 

A bed, with no one else on it. A small dresser with a few knicknacks displayed on top, all of them his. There’s a jacket wrapped on the back of a desk chair and the curtains are open, letting moonlight filter inside. A pile of his clothes are in the corner and there’s nothing else. He’s safe, alone, and able to relax a little. 

Whumpee lays back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin and rolls onto his side and curling his legs up to his chest. He bites on his bottom lip to keep from sobbing and tears well in his eyes. 

There’s a knock on his door and he shoots up, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Caretaker. Can I come in?” they ask softly. 

Whumpee clears his throat and pulls the blanket over himself. “Yeah, sure.” 

Caretaker slowly pushes the door open and smiles warmly. They walk into the room and sit on Whumpee’s chair. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

It’s a useless question, Caretaker knows it, Whumpee knows it, they both fucking know it. But they asked. Maybe he should tell the truth? 

“As well as I can. Better than last night, I think.” he says, forcing a smile. 

Caretaker tilts their head and bites their cheek, “I thought we agreed on no more lying.” 

Whumpee looks at his hands and frowns. “I can handle it. You don’t need to know everything that happened to me.” 

And Caretaker wants to believe him, they want to nod and accept him at his word. That he can handle what he’s dealing with alone. But they know him. And from the few things Whumper said before he was arrested…he can’t handle it alone. 

Caretaker shakes their head and scoots closer to Whumpee, ignoring the way Whumpee leans back and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. 

“You don’t have to tell me everything. Nothing you don’t want to talk about. But if you’re suffering now? I need to know so I can help. Please, just let me help you.” they say, voice breaking. 

Whumpee stares at them, brows furrowed. He knows he should tell them about the nightmares. That they’re not just flashes of things that used to happen. That he can’t remember what they’re about for more than a few seconds. That even if he could remember, he definitely wouldn’t want to. But all that comes out of his mouth is, “Why won’t it stop?” 

“What stop?” Caretaker asks. 

Whumpee takes a shuddering breath and starts picking at the cuticle on his finger. “Everything.” he looks up and Caretaker’s inching closer to him, an infinitely worried expression on their face. “Not like that. I don’t want to- It’s just. I don’t get any sleep because every time I lay still enough, I can feel Whumper’s hands on me. They’re not…it’s always gentle. And Whumper was never gentle. But I know that…I know it’s them. I just know it’s them and I don’t know how I know because-” 

He stops and looks at Caretaker and takes a deep breath. Caretaker’s cheeks have tear tracks running down them. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” 

“I’ve been here a week. Before that, there were two places that threw me out as soon as they realized they couldn’t ‘fix’ me with a few days of hard work. I didn’t want to risk it.” 

Caretaker leans forward and this time, Whumpee makes an effort not to move. They hold their arms out and Whumpee nods. 

He doesn’t hug them back, but for the first time in a very long time, he can feel the warmth of someone else and he doesn’t want to run off. 

[suspensefulpen]

Bird

TW: Blood, Guns, Implied Death

“Whumper–” Carewhumper sighed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me call you know who to talk you out of this. Just let it go! Even if you find him, you’re gonna die.” 

“I’m not letting shit go.” Whumper grunted as he reloaded his gun. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.” He bit back a groan as he glanced down at his now red shirt. 

“See! Look, you should just let it go. Come on, you can get him later. If I hurry up and get you back, you’ll be fine. I know you’re getting weaker by just standing there, you can barely even do that!” 

Carewhumper’s words were disregarded as Whumper walked out of the building. She sighed again and rushed to stop him. “Whumper, this is crazy sauce! There’s no way you’re going to make it in time anyway! Let’s just–” 

“If you’re so scared then you go back.” He shouted over his shoulder, never stopping. 

“I’m–ugh!” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “I’m not scared of what Whumpee’s going to do. I’m scared of losing my friend. All of us are. You really think they’re going to let me walk back into that base and say you’re dead? We cannot afford to lose you, Whumper. We’ve already lost so much because of Whumpee. We can’t lose you too.” 

He only stared in silence. Carewhumper kept her hopes up that maybe he would change his mind. She was shocked when he turned to continue walking away. “You gigantic bastard… You don’t even care about yourself, do you? What about Caretaker?” 

He finally paused as if he was considering her words. Whumper glanced over his shoulder. “That’s exactly why I need to do it. For them.” 

“What if you don’t come back to them? You know how devastated they would be?” 

“They won’t have to be.” Whumper continued walking, Carewhumper rushing behind, trying her best to talk him out of it. Whumper paid no mind to it. Even as blood continued to stain his white button up. Carewhumper didn’t understand how he was still going. It was very obvious that he’d lost more blood than he needed to. In spite of that, he moved as if there was nothing wrong with him. She was once again shocked when he picked up speed after seeing a blur of white disappear inside an upcoming warehouse. 

“Whumper, stop!” Carewhumper’s words were still being ignored as he shot the knob off the door, letting himself in. She scrambled inside after him to see him standing in the center of the eerie building. 

“I know you’re in here, you winged demon.” He sounded angrier. Angrier than Carewhumper had ever seen him. “You tried to hurt the one person I care about the most. Then you shot me thinking that would distract me from tracking you down. You’re sorely mistaken Whumpee.” 

The silence that followed was soon filled with Whumper’s footsteps as he knocked over anything in his way. 

“You really think you can hide from me? Remember how we found you in the first place Whumpee. I can track you down even with more than half my blood soaked into my shirt. Don’t think just because I’m injured that’s gonna slow me down.” 

Both Whumper and Carewhumper paused when they heard hurried steps behind them. He instantly fired his gun, ceasing the steps behind a stack of pallets. They could see Whumpee’s quivering figure crouched to the ground. Whumper stalked closer. 

“Stupid ass bird. You really thought I would just let you get away with no consequence.” 

Carewhumper heard a gasp as Whumper pointed his weapon at the winged figure on the ground. 

“You thought wrong.” 

BANG.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumpril day 8

(Nasua/comfort food/dehydration)

Content warning: hospital, mention of captivity

Whumpee wasn’t eating. They’d been in the hospital for nearly two days and Teammate hadn’t seen them put a single thing in their mouth.

They thought they were being subtle about it. They stirred their food, tucked food away when they thought nobody was eating, claimed not to be hungry whenever asked. If they were given a glass of water, they would stumble their way to the bathroom and pour it down the sink as soon as they were alone. 

It was pathetic how obvious it was. It was almost funny how little of a poker face Whumpee had, how their face curled in disgust and anxiety each time they were presented with food. How they claimed to not be hungry with all the conviction of a starving man. How they pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Teammate knocked on the door, but didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Hey,”

Whumpee sighed. “There’s no point in knocking if you’re just going to barge in.”

“I know,” Teammate leaned against the door, taking a moment to look Whumpee over. “You look like shit by the way.”

They really did. Bags under their eyes dark enough to match the bruises littering their body. They’d been chewing at the dried skin on their lips, leaving them dotted with sore bloody spots. They looked like they’d been stuck in the basement of some asshat that got off on torturing people for the last several days. Which was pretty accurate. 

They rolled their eyes. “Wow, thanks. I’m so glad you came to tell me that.”

“Actually, I didn’t. Catch,” Teammate reached into their bag, pulling a bottle out and tossing it Whumpee’s way. Whumpee’s left arm being one of the few things that wasn’t injured, they caught it easily. Privately, Teammate sent Whumper a smug little ‘fuck you’ for apparently being so oblivious as to miss that Whumpee was left-handed. 

Whumpee turned the object over in their hands. “A drink?” 

“Those shakes are your favorites, yeah? Nobody else at base can stand ‘em. Didn’t want them to rot, so I brought you one.” Teammate shrugged. “It’s a sealed bottle, so nobody could’ve messed with it without leaving evidence.”

They hadn’t thought it was possible, but Whumpee somehow grew paler. “I–I’d never think you–I’m not accusing anyone of trying to poison me!”

“Nobody’s saying you are. But, like, I get it.” Teammate’s voice softened. “I get it. I don’t know what the hell happened to you, but it was probably pretty shitty. Nobody’s gonna take it personally if you’re paranoid after. If you have to eat packaged stuff, then do what you have to.”

Whumpee looked down at the drink in their hands for a long moment, fingers clutching it tightly. Finally, they looked up. “Okay. Um...thank you.”

Teammate turned to leave, waving as they did. “You can thank me by getting better so I can kick your ass in training again.”

“Oh my god you’re a prick,” Whumpee groaned, but Teammate could tell they were smiling. 

The last thing Teammate heard before closing the door was the bottle’s seal being broken.

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whumptober day four

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.” Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

tws: whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, cattle prod mention (as a weapon towards whumpee, cows are not in here)

ahaha I don't love this one but I don't think it's too bad

There’s knocking, on the door, and Whumpee swallows. Whumper doesn’t usually knock, but maybe they’re in one of their better moods today. Maybe they’ll be nice and hurt Whumpee less, or give them water after. That happens, sometimes, if Whumpee has been good, if Whumper gets good news from somewhere and isn’t so stressed.

“Whumpee?” the person says on the other side of the door, and Whumpee frowns. That isn’t Whumper’s voice. That is not- fuck. No one is supposed to know about Whumpee except Whumper. And Whumpee knows that the cattle prod is still around here somewhere from the last time Whumper used it, which means that this new person might have it.

The only coherent thought Whumpee can form is fuck and that is not a thought that is going to help. Whumper is supposed to be here. Whumper is supposed to fix things like this. Whumpee’s only jobs are to sit still when Whumper is stressed and tries to take it out of them, which isn’t really a skill set that’s going to be useful here.

Whumpee is temporarily relieved when they remember that their door is always kept locked, and starts to relax, only to hear the soft click of the lock turning.

Well, that’s not- not really the best case scenario here.

“You in there, Whumpee?” the voice calls, and Whumpee hears the doorknob start to turn. They scramble to find somewhere to hide, but Whumper always hates when Whumpee tries to hide and has removed almost anywhere that could be useful.

Fuck.

There’s the bathroom. It doesn’t have a door or a shower curtain, but it’s out of the direct line of sight from the doorway that leads to the hall. It’s better than nothing, Whumpee thinks, hoping that the stranger doesn’t catch sight of them ducking into the bathroom while the door swings open.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here, Caretaker,” someone complains, different from the previous voice. Shitshitshit how many people are there? But okay. Okay. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone there, which means Whumpee is doing a good job at hiding. They hold their breath, trying to stop shaking, hoping that if they stay still then no one will think to check here.

“They have to be here. Whumper’s an asshole, but all the information they’ve given us so far has been true.”

“Yeah, so far.”

Oh. Oh, no. These people have been sent here by Whumper. Why, why, why had Whumpee thought it’d be okay for them to decide who was and wasn’t allowed here? When was the last time Whumpee was supposed to decide anything, and when had they started believing that was a thing they could do?

Whumpee is breathing as shallowly and quietly as possible. At this point, it’s borderline disobedience, but all they do is keep hiding. They suppose they’ll be punished regardless—Whumper does not send people to coddle Whumpee. It’s only a matter of time before they’re found and put in their place, and Whumpee decides that their few moments of time before being found are more important than the punishment they’ll receive for hiding.

“Whumpee?” one of the people calls again. “Are you here? We’re not with Whumper. Gonna get you out of here.”

Not with Whumper. It’s a lie, and possibly also a joke. Everyone is with Whumper. Doing what they tell you is a trap, and doing anything else is a death sentence.

Whumpee keeps holding their breath.

[depressed-werewolf]

Whumpril Day 1: Distress Call

tw: implied kidnapping, possessive whumper, failed escape attempt, drugging

Whumpee stood at the payphone and dialed the number. They took another wary glance behind them. They didn’t have much time before Whumper caught up with them and there was only one person they felt like they could call.

They took a deep breath. “Caretaker?”

They heard frantic noises on the other end of the line, as if Caretaker had knocked something over.

“Whumpee? Whumpee, is that it you?”

“Yeah, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m near Fourth Street. I can’t… I can’t stay in one place for long, they’ll find me.”

Caretaker’s voice was frantic on the other end of the  phone. “What? Who is ‘they’? What are you talking about?”

“It’s Whumper, just… please come get me. I’m scared.”

Simply saying their name made Whumpee shiver. They glanced behind them again, they were alone… for now.

Caretaker sighed. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

Whumpee could only pray they got there in time. “Please hurry,” they said in a small voice.

“I will.”

There was a click and the other hung up. Whumpee leaned against the alley wall and closed their eyes. They hoped Whumper wouldn’t find them. They’d barely even managed to get away, Whumpee didn’t know what Whumper would do if they found them, but they knew it wouldn’t be good.

“You know they won’t get here in time.”

Whumpee jumped. They knew that voice too well, far too well. When they opened their eyes they saw Whumper standing beside them, leaning casually against the alley wall. 

Whumpee scrambled backwards, nearly tripping over their own feet in their panic. “Just leave me alone, please,” they begged.

“Now why would I do that?”

Whumper quickly closed the distance between them, tilting Whumpee upwards and forcing them to look them in the eyes.

Whumpee flinched back violently. “Don’t touch me!”

They stroked the other’s cheek fondly, ignoring Whumpee’s obvious panic. “Oh, whumpee, when will you learn? You’re never getting away from me.”

“Get off me, get off me!”

They shoved Whumper and continued scrambling backwards, but their back hit the wall. 

Whumper shook their head and continued prowling towards them, pinning them against the wall. “It seems you’ve forgotten your place, Whumpee. But don’t worry, I’ll bring you home.”

They noticed the rag in Whumper’s hand too late. They struggled when Whumper pressed the rag against their mouth and noise, but they ultimately had nowhere to go.

“Please, please no,” they whispered.

But by then the chemicals were already making their vision go blurry. Whumper said something but they couldn’t make out the words, their mind was foggy. The last thing they remembered before passing out was falling into Whumper’s arms.

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Whumptober Day 10

No. 10 Poor Unfortunate Souls

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

CW: civilian whumpee, intimate whumper, waterboarding, interrogation, references to being locked in a trunk

The civilian must've passed out at some point while locked in the trunk, because when they next rose to consciousness, it was through the help of ice-cold water dumped on top of them.

They gasped, spluttering and coughing, looking up with wild eyes. They were trapped in what looked like a custom made metal chair, with restraints around their ankles and wrists to keep them from moving.

The man who had kidnapped them stood in front of them, smirking and holding a bucket that water was still dripping out of.

“Rise and shine, little bird,” he said with a widening grin.

Chest still heaving, the civilian looked up at him with wide eyes. “What- what- why did y-you do that?”

The man shrugged, setting the bucket down on the concrete floor. “You were out cold there for a while. I got impatient.” Shifting on his feet slightly, the man continued, “Anyways, I thought it time we get to know each other a little better, little bird. Don't you agree?”

Immediately the civilian’s muscles tensed and they pushed themself as far back against the chair as they could. “What d-do you mean?” they asked, teeth clacking together as the cold water continued to drip down them.

“I mean,” the man emphasized, stepping closer to them and crouching slightly, “that I am going to ask you some questions and you are going to answer. And,” he chuckled darkly, “if you decide to do something as incredibly stupid as lie to me or refuse to answer, well, let's just say I'll give you some extra motivation not to.”

Before they could think it through, the civilian was already shaking their head. “P-please just let me, me go. Please, I-I haven't done anything.”

Their head snapped violently to the side a moment later, cheek throbbing where the man had backhanded them. “Wrong answer, little bird,” he chastised.

The civilian let their head fall down, closing their eyes in a useless attempt to block the tears from falling.

The next thing they knew, a hand was wrapping itself in their curls, wrenching their head upward. Their neck craned backwards, leaving them with no option but to stare helplessly up at their captor.

He stared coldly down at them. “I will ask you a question. You will answer. Understood?”

Tears sliding down their temples, the civilian could only whisper a small broken “please”.

The man shrugged before slinging a cloth over the bottom half of their face. Eyes widening in understanding, the civilian futilely tried to knock the cloth from their face, wildly swinging their neck.

However, the man towering above them had too strong of a grip for them, and, before they knew it, water was pouring down on them, causing their lungs to burn and their mouth to gape widely in a helpless attempt to draw in oxygen.

While it felt like it lasted an eternity, after only a few seconds, the man lifted the cloth from their face and surprisingly gently helped them to lean forward, rubbing their back as they coughed and gasped in large gulps of air.

If the civilian didn't know better, they'd say the hand petting their hair was comforting. After what felt like too short a time, the man was sitting them up straight.

“Little bird,” the man cooed, “I'm gonna start easy. First question, tell me your name.”

The civilian had to work their jaw for a few seconds before their voice worked again. “C-Carlen,” they rasped hopelessly.

“Mm, Carlen,” the man repeated, as if savoring the sound of their name on his tongue. “Good, little bird.”

And so it went. The man would waterboard them for a few moments then ask them a question. The civilian steadily grew more distraught, tears and snot smearing on their face as their lungs burned and ached.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the man knew basically everything there was to know about the civilian.

Their full name. Their address. Their family and friends. Their job. Habits. Hobbies. Spending habits and credit scores.

Eventually, the man let their head drop forward again, the civilian groaning at the sudden lack of tension in their neck.

The man’s hand returned to stroking their hair as they shuddered and cried quietly.

“Thank you, my little bird,” the man said softly. “You were very good for me, weren't you? I think we're going to have a lot of fun together, Carlen, you and I.”

---

Taglist: @badluck990 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-vagabond-nun @shywhumpauthor @panic-and-chaos @freefallingup13

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Listless

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Elze’ith reckons with the emotional toll of Lord Denholm’s actions. Lord Denholm discusses the new status quo.

Contains: Intimate whumper, gilded cage, depression, silent whumpee, referenced choking, referenced vampire whumper & bloodbag whumpee, referenced mind control

~~~

The ache in his throat hadn’t faded when Elze’ith awoke from a restless sleep. Each inhale still came with a slight burn that served as a potent reminder of what had transpired the previous evening. The twin holes in his neck, still unhealed, twinged with every slight movement that he made.

It was getting to be past the time he normally would have gotten up, but Elze’ith just curled up into a tighter ball in his bed. Getting up meant having to face the day, and he just wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t want to have to guess whether Lord Denholm was going to treat him kindly or cruelly today. He didn’t want to have to deal with the cavalcade of emotions, the fear-gratitude-disgust-pride that being around Lord Denholm brought out. He didn’t want to play nice with the man who was keeping him trapped here. He wanted…

Gods, he wanted to see the sun again. How long had it been since he had been outside, felt the sun on his skin and the wind on his face? The days were starting to blur together, one endless stream of uncertainty. Was it even still winter anymore? Or was Castle Tergoria just always this bone-chillingly cold?

And he wanted his sun, his Altair. Once, Altair would have been able to comfort him, soothe his anxieties and restore his confidence. Elze’ith had been forced to make do without his partner for so long, since he gave up his freedom for Altair and Altair had repaid him by abandoning him. What had he done wrong, to lose Altair’s favor?

If he was honest with himself, part of him resented Altair for forsaking him like this. Mostly, though, he was just left with a yawning abyss of loneliness that he didn’t know how to fill.

A knock came at his door. Elze’ith closed his eyes in resignation. If he could have shouted at them to go away, he would have, but his voice was still locked in his throat, the chains no less heavy for their immateriality. Besides, he knew there would be no point.

A few moments passed, and then the door opened. Footsteps pressed into the room, and then the bed creaked as Lord Denholm sat down. His unmistakable presence was almost muted; Elze’ith wasn’t sure if Lord Denholm was holding it back, or if he just couldn’t feel it as strongly anymore.

Lord Denholm sighed, an uncharacteristic release of emotion and breath, and placed a cold hand on Elze’ith’s shoulder. “I know that last night was difficult for you, my light. I pushed harder than I normally do. I thought that you could handle it. It seems I was mistaken.”

His heart twisted with guilt and shame. It seemed all he was good for was letting people down. The part of him that knew that this wasn’t his fault was buried too deep to hear anymore.

“I don’t want this to happen again. I think we can agree on that, can’t we?”

That much was true, so he gave a small nod. But his opinion didn’t matter. Lord Denholm was going to do whatever he wanted with him, whether or not Elze’ith put up any sort of resistance. Last night the knowledge came with terror, but now, Elze’ith couldn’t bring himself to feel anything at all about it.

Lord Denholm’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into Elze’ith’s arm. “Good. In that case, I think it would be best if you stayed silent. As much as I’ve enjoyed our discussions, I wouldn’t want you to say anything you’d regret.”

A tiny spark of emotion crackled in Elze’ith’s heart— dread, with an undercurrent of anger. Lord Denholm was taking even more from him. What would Elze’ith be left with, when Lord Denholm finally ended things? But it only lasted for a moment, before all that was left was tired resignation.

“I know, my light. But this is for the best. I know you can adjust. And I’ll be here for you the entire time.”

Lord Denholm shifted until Elze’ith was laying on his lap. One hand began stroking his hair, while the other continued rubbing soothing circles into his arm.

“You seem tired. Get some more rest. I’ve got you.”

Was it a command? Elze’ith couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he was tired beyond reason, and Lord Denholm was comfortable, and sleep was entirely too tantalizing a prospect. So he relaxed into Lord Denholm’s touch, and let himself drift.

[hurtthemgently]

Part 5

Masterlist

Cw: intimate whumper, restraints, drugged whumpee, gagging, whipping, non con touch, blood. Vampire whumper, faerie whumpee, aftermath of failed escape attempt

Grabbing a bandana from a basket of wash towels, Ceran paused to listen to the faerie sob downstairs. He made sure to grab cuffs as well.

The faerie couldn’t move. They tried to even lean towards the door, and just ended up falling onto their arms and knocking their head against the hardwood.

In their chest was a creeping, heavy tightness. They couldn’t do anything besides wait for Ceran to come back and do some unknown thing to them. He hadn’t hurt them the last time they tried for the door, but that was part of a deal. They had no idea what he’d do this time.

They started shaking when Ceran’s boots came into view. He lowered to the floor and shoved a knotted cloth into their mouth, before grabbing their arm, and buckling a leather cuff around their wrist. After adding a second, he scooped them up with ease.

This was their first time in the garage, at least while awake, and they immediately decided they were going to do everything they could to never be in this room ever again.

Along one wall a long array of drawers and cabinets, and a board on which rested a variety of tools held up by hooks. His truck was parked to the other side, out of the way. In the center of the garage lay an empty plastic pool. The thing that scared them most was the occasional splotches of long dried blood along the floor and the wall with the tools.

Even some of the tools still had blood on them.

He set them down in the empty pool. They felt their arms being lifted above their head as he pulled them to be seated. Something clicked at their wrist and they were partially suspended.

They tried to turn as their captor circled out of view, but they still could barely move. He stepped back in front of them holding a crop, and gently tilted their chin up with it, relishing the sobs as they closed their eyes tightly.

“You’re gonna get a choice.” He circled behind them again, and they felt a finger lift the hem of their shirt.

Their scream was muffled by the gag as a searing pain struck their side, just under their ribs.

“You could take a couple dozen more of these, or, you could give me your name”

He didn’t see any kind of response, so he lifted their head to look at their face. He saw a spark of understanding in their wide, tear filled eyes, but it was clear that they were in no right mind to choose.

“I’ll leave you to think about it.” He set the crop down in front of them, and brushed his fingers over the inflamed welt on their side. They gasped and squirmed at the touch, turning their head away.

“Oh, can’t have you trying to mess with anything in here. This’ll just take a second.”

He lifted them by their waist, making them wrap their legs around his torso so as to not fall. The weight on their arms lessened, and they were able to lower their shoulders. When they felt his lips on their neck, they tried to push out of his hold, to no avail.

The sharp pinch at their neck made them sob, they jerked and kicked to make the pulsing, suctioning pain stop.

The venom hit them like a wave.

When delivered through a kiss, it had felt like a steady build up of almost but not quite numbness.

Now, through a bite, it felt like a painful tingling, quickly and sporadically making its way through every vein. It hurt. They fell limp in their captors arms.

He set them back down gently, and retrieved an alcohol swab to wipe their neck with. Infection would sour the blood

“So just to remind you: your choice is, let’s say thirty strikes? Maybe forty if you cry pretty enough for me. That or, you give me your name.

“I’ll give you some time to think on it.”

They had their eyes closed tightly, biting hard on the cloth to try and block out the prickling pain at every nerve ending.

“Do you understand?” Ceran brushed the side of their face with the back of his hand, and they opened their eyes. Tears continued to fall, and they hadn’t quite stopped shaking.

They nodded as much as they could and, accepting that response, Ceran left the garage.

[lumpofwhump]

Replaceable, Part 1

Content: Lab whump, spy whump, whumper to whumpee, multiple whumpers, reluctant whumper, poison gas, manhandling, lady whump

--

Director David Richardson's hand had pressed heavily down on Barclay's tense shoulder that afternoon as they'd watched the footage of his last interaction with a lab subject.

"NO, NO, STOP!" the young woman on the screen howled through sobs, frantically pounding on the reinforced glass of the chamber she'd been locked in.  She was new, or at least she had been.  No burns, or implants or anything.  For all Barclay knew, she might've been one of the subjects he'd picked up the previous week.  "What did I ever do to you?!"

"I'd save my breath if I were you," he heard his past self say in a curt tone.  He wondered if his voice always sounded that annoying, or if it was just the quality of the recording.  "You're going to need it."

She didn't listen.  They rarely did.  With begging having failed, next came the insults.  Nothing that really landed anymore.  Some of them he even had to agree with.

"Someone get this started already," he'd said to a junior lab technician, trying to sound bored rather than on edge.  Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.

The kid had hesitated, his gazed fixed on the screaming subject.

"Quit stalling, would you?" his past self demanded.  "Or do I have to come over there and press the button myself?"

Even sitting there watching this play out hours later, Barclay still felt relieved when the tech muttered a quick, "Yes, sir," and tapped a few things on the screen in front of him.  Several years into this job and he still hated having to do it himself.

A second later, pixelated clouds of gas flooded the chamber.  It was supposed to be some new form of crowd control they were testing, like tear gas on steroids.  The subject's screaming reached a crescendo as the stuff made contact with her flesh, only to be replaced by hacking coughs as she inevitably inhaled it.

"Keep it going," he heard himself say half a minute in, a tinge of uncertainty having crept into his voice.

The Director gripped him tighter at this change in tone, fingers drumming against his shoulder with barely contained irritation.  He went rigid and bit down on his lower lip with oversized front teeth, knowing what was coming next on screen.

Still, he flinched at the loud thunk from the chamber... or rather the memory of what he'd seen when he'd looked.  A hand reaching out through the sickly yellow gas, blistered all to hell, leaving a trail of blood as it slowly slid down the glass until it disappeared back into the cloud.

"Okay, we can switch it off," the Barclay onscreen said shakily.

After a long moment of tense silence, he heard the young lab tech speak up.  "It's on a timer, sir... we've still got 35 seconds left."

"Forget about the timer, just, just, just turn it off," Barclay's past self snapped in reply.  "We have what we need.  We're done.  Experiment over, okay?!"  With that, he strode over and shoved the lab tech aside, frantically tapping the screen in front of him to stop the flow of gas and have clean air pumped in to replace what remained.

The Director reached over to pause the footage before he had to see the girl's burnt, crumpled, and trembling form for a second time.  Barclay had the sinking feeling that was the extent of the mercy he was going to get during this meeting.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence before he forced himself to look over to his boss, fidgeting nervously as he spoke.  "Sir, I can explain --"

Without warning, the Director cut him off by backhanding him across the face, knocking him out of his chair.  He hit the floor with a surprised yelp, and flinched again, expecting that his reaction would earn him another blow.

"Get off the floor," the Director snapped.

Barclay obediently pushed himself to his feet and forced himself to meet his mentor's flinty eyes with his own mismatched pair.

"You were saying," the Director said in a chilling tone, "that you had an explanation for wasting time and resources by tainting the results of our experiments?"

Barclay swallowed.  "Continuing the experiment would've been a waste, sir.  She... I mean, the subject," he quickly corrected himself, "would've had to be replaced after --"

"So you find a replacement," the Director cut him off.  "God knows the city hasn't run out of homeless people.  Or have you gotten squeamish about that part of your job too?"

Barclay looked down and shook his head.  "N-no sir," he said in a low tone.

The Director looked unconvinced, and gestured to the lab tech on the screen in front of them.  "As of this afternoon, your assistant there will be taking over for you as Lead Technician."

"WHAT?!" Barclay shouted in dismay before he could think himself, then reflexively cringed, bracing for the Director's response to this disrespect.

But the Director only looked at him coldly.  "Until you can handle the kind of work we do here in the labs, I'll be giving you other assignments.  Who knows, they might even be a better fit for you."

"What do you need me to do, sir?" Barclay asked quickly, doing his best to ignore the contemptuous edge to his mentor's voice.

The Director handed him a bag in answer.

Barclay opened it to find a collection of electronics, small, simple-looking, and discreet. "Listening devices...?" he ventured.

The Director nodded.  "You're not the only one who's lost his stomach for experimentation recently.  My co-director has gone soft as well.  He falls for one of the subjects - my subject - and all of a sudden he's become a reformer."  He rolled his eyes.  "He could make a lot of problems for us if he keeps on like this.  Anything you could dig up to prevent that would be appreciated."

"So what, do you want me to put these in his office or something?" Barclay asked.

"His mansion," the Director corrected.  "Get in quickly, find some good spots to place them, and get the hell out of there.  You can manage that much, can't you, Clay?"

--

The answer, as it turned out, was no.  No, he could not.  He'd made it into the mansion without anyone noticing, but that was about the best that could be said.

"OW, FUCK, OW.  Let me --" he let out an indignant sound of pain and frustration as he struggled uselessly against two taller and much stronger private security guards as they dragged him to the mansion's study.

"Let you go?" one of the men said with a chuckle.  "Sure."  He and his colleague abruptly let go of Barclay, only to roughly push him toward their boss's desk.  Unprepared for his sudden release, the scrawny young man stumbled and fell forward onto the floor with a grunt.  He looked back at the two men with a resentful glare that only got him a couple of smirks in return.

"We found these on him, sir," the other security guard said, tossing the listening devices they'd dug out of his pocket clear over his head onto the desk.

John Thornton said nothing for a long moment, and Barclay didn't dare look up to meet his eyes.  Still, he could easily picture the look of icy contempt on the face of his mentor's rival.  This was far from the first time he'd been on the receiving end of it.

"Looks like your boss is getting desperate, Fletcher," he finally commented, sounding more amused than anything as he reached over to pick up and inspect one of the bugs Barclay had been sent to install..  "And like he'll be needing to find himself a new... assistant."  His tone suggested this was far too generous a description for the burglar still on the floor in front of him.

Barclay stared sullenly at the ground, stubbornly refusing to talk, but he felt his chest tighten with anxiety.  Losing his job was the best he could hope for.

His blood ran cold, though, when Thornton added, "I'm thinking I might do my old friend the favor of handling the hard part myself.  He's always had a soft spot for you for whatever reason."

"Wait, what?!"  Barclay abruptly scrambled to his feet with a shaky breath, looking for any way out with wide eyes full of panic.  The windows behind the desk were shut and locked, though, and the only door out of the study was the one he'd just come through.  He made a desperate rush back for the hallway, but one of the two security guards easily grabbed him, wrenching his arm back.  He let out a yelp of surprise and tried to pull away, kicking at the other guard's shin and trying to stomp down on his foot as he approached, but this only earned him a rough knee to the tailbone.  He did his best to bite back a screech, but in doing so he lost focus on trying to escape.  By the time he could focus on anything else but pain, both men had a firm hold on him.

"You can't just...!  Look, if I go missing, the Director's going to come looking for me," he sputtered, continuing to try to slip out of his captors' grasps.  "A-and if he finds my body, or.  Or if someone here rats you out... you wouldn't be the first director to become a subject!"

"Take him to the lake," Thornton ordered his staff in a casual tone, smirking at Barclay's threats but otherwise ignoring them.  "Oh, and don't bother wasting a perfectly good duffel bag on this one."

--

This is the first half of what @skinofafish and I submitted for the Hurt and Comfort whump anthology. Directors Thornton and Richardson are @skinofafish's OCs.

Next

[deluxewhump]

I like the NSFW, but I'll take anything tbh. Whatever you can come up with ^u^

Amber & Belle

CW: lady whumper, lady whumpee, lady caretaker, BBU setting, pet whump, sick fic, nsfw mentions and noncon mentions but nothing in the drabble, this is literally the best Amber has ever behaved

Belle was sick, and she couldn’t remember feeling worse fin a long time. She had woken up with it, whimpered and pulled the cover back over her head. She was still at Alex’s house, sleeping in what was usually Zee’s bed.

Amber had gotten back from Miami tanned and in a fantastic mood, and decided to stay with Cameron for a few days.

“Yeah it’s cool, I’ll just get a hotel,” Alex had said sarcastically. Belle shot him an apologetic look, but Amber hadn’t even noticed.

When the bedroom door opened, she knew it had to be Amber. None of the boys bothered her until she came out, and if they did, they knocked.

“These boys have you sleeping in, Belle?”

She kept the covers around her head, but Amber tugged them down. “God, you look like shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t feel good.”

Amber laid a cool hand on her forehead, the side of her cheek. It felt so good Belle nearly moaned.

Then something unusual happened: Amber’s brows knit in concern and she pouted her already glossed lips. “Baby,” she said. “You’re like, a million degrees.”

Belle tried not to chase the coolness of the touch as she pulled her hand away. She was afraid Amber’s idea of a solution would be a freezing shower, and cleaning the apartment as a thank you to their hosts.

She placed her other hand on Belle’s cheek, for no other apparent reason than she had seemed to enjoy the coolness of the other one. Belle whimpered gratefully.

“I met some crazy ass people in Miami,” Amber said dreamily. “I met this one girl. She’s brilliant. Rich as all get out, but it’s like, her own money, right? Not daddy’s money, not her rich asshole husband. It’s hers. She does whatever the fuck she wants. She wants to fly down to Cabo?” Amber snapped the finger on her free hand and Belle flinched.

“Up to Aspen to go fucking skiing? France? Done. She’s like, thirty two. God, she had this one story …well, you had to be there. But my point is— she had a pet. It was a boy, but still. I wouldn’t want a boy pet, I always wanted… well, you. But he was cute, whatever. And he was like… in love with her. You could tell. Just batshit crazy in love with her.” Amber laughed, and went down on an elbow beside Belle. She picked up a strand of her dark hair and began to play with it idly. “The way he looked at her. Anyway. It got me sad about us.”

Amber looked up at her, and Belle tried to keep her face neutral. This entire train of thought was making her nervous.

“I’m not saying I want their dynamic, or that we ever could. I’m just saying. I’ve been a little harsh on you, sometimes. And I got thinking about how hard you try, even when I’m being like, really strict on you. I got all choked up about it on the boat. I was drinking a lot of wine. Anyway.” She planted a small kiss on Belle’s cheek. “You’re sick, and I’m gonna be nice, okay? Within reason. Now tell me, what hurts?”

“Uhm,” Belle swallowed. She wasn’t sure she liked this at all. The nerves alone were making her feel sicker. “My throat. And my head?”

“Okay,” Amber nodded sympathetically. She could be so competent, when she wanted. If you could only trust her, you’d feel safe with her. “I’ll get you some things. Stay right here.”

Belle laid very still and listened. She heard a TV, but no voices. A kitchen cupboard closed and the faucet ran. Amber came back a few minutes later with supplies.

“Open,” Amber said, and made her drink a capful of orange liquid. It was familiar, the same as when she was a little kid. The loneliness of the last year felt unbearable suddenly, after the little reprieve she’d had staying with the boys. She tried to hide a hitching breath too late, and turned her head to hide the tears in her eyes.

There was a heavy beat of silence in the room.

“Are you crying? “

Shit. She’d ruined the good mood. She shook her head no, which meant yes, but I don’t want to be. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

“Did something happen while I was away? I trusted Cameron and Alex with you, but…”

“No,” Belle said quickly, defending them. “Oh my god, no.”

Amber set the medicine to the side. Her eyes were bright and dark, always deeper than her deliberately vacuous words. She wore different masks for different people, changed in and out of them like beloved outfits. You only ever knew what Amber wanted you to know.

“Am I really that bad?”

“…what?” Belle asked meekly. Sometimes she could play dumb and get away with it, but she felt too sick to play games very well today.

“I know I’ve been a bitch to you sometimes,” Amber said. “But I’m not the worst thing that could’ve happened to you by a long shot. Elle wasn’t the only person I met in Miami. I heard a lot of shit, and saw some too. We may have our little fights, you and me, but I’d never really hurt you.”

Amber took her chin gently, but she still jumped.

“And there’s some real fucked up shit out there that happens to pretty pets like you. Some fucked up people out there, man. Do you know what I’m talking about at all? Do they tell you about that stuff at the puppy farm?”

Belle nodded. Her sinuses ached and her nose was getting stuffy, but that paled in comparison to the kind of thing Amber was talking about. It all did.

“I’d never let any of that happen to you,” she said solemnly. “Even if you think I would, even if you think that you could piss me off enough that I’d sell you to somebody like that for cheap, as revenge…you couldn’t.”

Belle couldn’t look away from Amber’s eyes, her straight little teeth, her headband studded with tiny pearls. “You wouldn’t?” she whispered, and couldn’t believe she’d said it once it left her lips.

“Fuck no,” Amber said in disgust. “I might leave you with these two morons for a few weeks, but I’ll come back.”

“Three,” Belle corrected. “Three morons.”

“Mm,” Amber agreed. She traced Belle’s bottom lip with a pearlescent fingernail. “And all too afraid of me to try and fuck you. How convenient.”

Belle didn’t think that was quite why, but she was fine with that reasoning.

Amber picked up the cool cloth she’d brought. “Lie down. I brought this for your head. It’ll feel good. C’mon. Lie down for me, it’s okay.”

Belle took a shaky breath, let Amber guide her back down to the pillow. The cloth she laid over her forehead did feel delicious. She closed her eyes.

“Get some sleep if you can,” Amber said. “Here’s the tv remote if you need some noise.”

“Thank you,” Belle whispered, knowing she would wake again later and wonder if this was a pathetic dream she’d had, her subconscious wishing Amber could just remember she was hers once and a while, and maybe she should take care of her things.

“I’m leaving the DayQuil, too,” she said, and left a small glossy kiss on Belle’s knuckles before leaving the room and closing the door behind her with a soft click.

-

Belle’s taglist: @justplainwhump

[ocean-blue-whump]

Good Pet. Bad Pet.

For @amonthofwhump Twelve Days of Whumpmas! Day Three-Betrayal

More Sunny and Star with Hunter Bianchi. 

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow

CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, creepy/intimate whumper, derogatory language, nonsexual partial undressing, bonded whumpees, Romantic whumpees, brief masochism mention

Sunny creeps across the floor, his bare feet silent against the polished wood. The jangling of the jewelry on his wrists and gives him away, announces his presence to what feels like the whole universe. He’s wearing small white shorts, a sheer white top, thick gold bangles on his thin wrists, and three different golden necklaces. He purses his lips as he rounds the corner. Both pets were left untied today, a reward for behaving for Sir’s party last night. Behaving despite the bruises that were sucked into his neck and collarbones.

Sir is in his office on the second floor, and Sunny tries to be as quiet as possible as he approaches the door and knocks delicately. 

“Come in,” Sir rumbles. 

Sunny opens the door and steps in, his head bowed and his hands folded in front of him. “Hello, Sir.”

“I thought I told you not to disturb me.” Sir taps his pen against his lips. “I have lots of work to do today, precious Sunny.”

Sunny’s voice trembles. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I--but I have to tell you about Star.” His heart is hammering in his chest, he feels faint. There’s two different sides of training in him, one that says to love your owner and one that says to love your bonded. And he can’t reconcile them, he can’t fix the gap. Sweat beads on his forehead, he delicately wipes it away with the back of his hand. “She’s breaking a rule.” The words come out choked and halting. 

Sir shifts forward. “Oh? Please, Sun-Bun, tell me more.”

Sunny’s tongue feels useless in his mouth. “She’s laying on the couch. She’s on the furniture, she’s breaking a rule—” He cuts himself off, seconds from hyperventilating. He’s doing the best thing for Star. She’ll get punished for this, but she’ll be so much happier if she learns how to be good for Sir. They’ll both be happier. And Sunny loves Sir, too, when he’s Sir or Mr. Bianchi or Daddy. 

Sir stands up and walks over to Sunny, tilting the boy’s chin up with two fingers. “Good boy.”

Sunny thinks his legs are going to give out from those words alone. 

“You did the right thing. I’m so proud of you for telling the truth. You don’t need to worry about Star. I’ll handle her.”

Sunny bites his bottom lip, his eyes going wide as he nervously blinks up at Sir. “Are you...are you gonna hurt her?”

“Oh baby, don’t worry. She’ll get what she deserves, I promise.” Sir steps away, ruffling Sunny’s hair as he goes. Sunny shivers at the loss of contact. “Can you show me where she is?”

Sunny hesitantly nods, nuzzling into Sir’s fingers. “Yes, Sir.”

Sir hums. “Good boy.” He pulls his fingers away to reach down and take Sunny’s hand, large fingers gripping Sunny’s slender, elegant ones. Sunny beams. He was good, good for Sir, he’s such a good pet. Holding onto Sir’s hand, Sunny eagerly brings both of them into the living room. 

Star is sprawled out on the couch, basking in the sun like a cat. She makes a noise, a purr, almost, low and growly in the back of her throat. Her eyes are closed, leftover sparkles dotting her cheeks. God, she’s beautiful, underneath a fluffy blanket, hair around her head like a halo. A saint in the sunlight, gorgeous pet. Sunny wants to feel her warm skin underneath his aching hands, wants to trace the lines of her body, wants to feel the scars. 

Sir’s breath catches, and for a minute, Sunny thinks he’ll leave her be, let her catch up on sleep she so desperately needs. Because she’s pretty like this, and isn’t that why he bought them? Two pretty, pretty pets. 

He always forgets that they’re prettier when they’re bloody and begging. 

Sir strides forward, dragging Sunny with him, and tangles his fist in Star’s hair. Her eyes snap open with a start, and she yelps as Sir pulls her off the couch and onto the floor. She lands in a crumple of limbs, still half-paralyzed by the fog of sleep. 

Sir presses his dress shoe into Star’s temple, forcing her head down into the carpet. “What are you doing, Star? Hmm? You wanna explain why you think it’s okay for you to break the rules?”

“Pets are not allowed on the furniture without permission,” Star mumbles. She doesn’t seem to be registering what’s going on, not even the food on her face. 

Sir puts more weight down, and finally, Star’s dull expression flashes with pain and surprise. “Yeah. So why the fuck were you on the couch?”

“I was…” Star trails off, her fingers twitching at her sides. Sunny is still holding onto Sir’s hand, a scared boy hiding behind his Sir.

“Spit it out, slut,” Sir hisses. 

“I was fucking tired,” Star snaps, trying to push his foot off. “And I didn’t want to sleep on the fucking floor because it makes my back hurt.”

Sir makes a sarcastic pouty face. “Aww, I’m so sorry to hear that.” He pushes down harder. “You were swearing, so you just broke another rule.” He tugs on Sunny’s hand. “Come on, Sunny. Let Star see you.”

Sunny shuffles forward, his head down, gripping Sir’s hand tightly. 

“You could have slept here for another four hours and not been bothered if our precious Sun-Bun here hadn’t come to tell me that you were being bad.”

Star’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. Sunny’s cheeks burn with shame. Sir keeps on talking. “He told on you. He made a decision today. He picked me over you. He chose Daddy over his whore-in-crime.”

Star grunts and pushes against the boot. Her movements are getting frantic, sloppy, desperate. 

It’s worse that she’s not saying anything. Tears prick at Sunny’s eyes as he watches her struggle to free herself. 

“That should be punishment enough,” Sir says. “Having your love betray you. But it’s not. You don’t learn easily, Starshine. I’m going to have to punish you even more.”

At that, Star stops moving, starts whimpering. She’s fully awake now, Sunny thinks that’s worse. 

Sir steps back, taking his foot off Star’s head. She has the print of his shoe embedded into her pale skin. His hands are on Sunny’s back, weaving around his thin torso. “Take your shirt off, baby,” he whispers into Sunny’s ear. 

Goosebumps erupt across Sunny’s skin as he hooks his hands on the mesh and pulls it over his head, folding it in a flash and setting it on the coffee table. 

Sir turns around to fish around in a cabinet, coming back with a sharp knife. “Knees, Sunny,” he says. 

Sunny drops to the floor, eyes focusing on a single spot of the wall. In his peripheral vision, Star is sitting up slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. Sir squats down in front of Sunny, tracing the flat side of the knife along Sunny’s shoulders. The boy shivers, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Sir clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Eyes open. I want you to look at her when I hurt you.”

Sunny whines but opens his eyes, staring at Star. He was good. He was so good, he just wanted to make sure they were both following the rules so nothing else happened to them. He wanted to be good. 

“Please, don’t do this,” Star whispers. She’s on her knees now, too, right in front of Sunny. “He didn’t break the rules. I did.”

“You still want to defend him? After he turned you in?” Sir turns the knife, drawing a red line across Sunny’s chest. Sunny hisses at the bright flash of pain, hisses as it builds pleasure, too. 

“Yes. I’ll always—” Star clears her throat, shifting around. “I’ll always defend him. I’ll always forgive him.”

Sir’s voice is cold and vicious. “Then beg. Beg for me to punish you instead.”

They’ll only ever be good if they’re bleeding or begging. Sunny cries out, tilting his head against Sir’s shoulder as he makes another cut on his bicep. 

“Hurt me instead, Mr. Bianchi, please.” Star blinks slowly in a façade of seductiveness. It’s effective enough to make Sir pause to look at her. Sunny knows. Sunny knows when it’s real or not, he knows that she feels shame either way. 

“Go on,” Sir says. 

Star clears her throat. “I deserve to be hurt, I want to be hurt. Please hurt me instead. I forgive Sunny, Mr. Bianchi, he’s good and I’m not.”

No, Sunny wants to cry. Let him take the pain, for once. He turned his back on her. He went to Sir instead of waking her up gently and holding her, curled up against the floor by the fireplace. 

“Fine.” Sir’s knife flashes in the sun. 

It’s cold now. They’re both so fucking cold. 

Glint of the knife. Blood spilling from Star’s skin. And two pets, losing more of themselves every day in the walls of this manor. 

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

back at it again with the chaos posts. takes place before ashley moves in.

CWs: 17yo whumpee, slavery whump, tooth whump, blood, choking on blood, brief emeto, sadistic whumper, referenced self amputation, claustrophobia

Masterlist

-----------------------------------

He took the lock off the bathroom door.

He’d heard Kensington crying and tried to get in, and was pissed when he found it was locked. Kensington had unlocked it immediately, but he’d still been hit because of it. Leaving Kensington injured on the floor, Master went out and bought a new doorknob without a lock, saying that Kensington didn’t need or deserve any privacy in this house.

He held back all his tears until night now. And even then he cried with his hand over his mouth, his breaths short and shallow so Master didn’t hear him.

Things just kept getting worse. Kensington spent every second Master was home in constant fear. He never knew when he would mess up or say the wrong thing or breathe the wrong way. Honestly, it seemed like Grays-- … Master got pissed at every little thing Kensington did now. Kensington could go days without saying a single word or leaving his bedroom when he wasn’t needed, and Master would still scream at and hit him.

It left Kensington feeling exhausted. Worn out. Nerves shot. At the end of his rope, and every other word or phrase in existence for being real freakin’ tired. He lived in the same house as someone who hated him, someone who he was absolutely terrified of. Every day was spent just trying to survive without getting hurt too badly. It wasn’t even spent trying to not get hurt, now it just not too badly.

There was nowhere to be safe. He wasn’t allowed outside. His bedroom didn’t have a door, and the window was bolted shut. Master’s bedroom was strictly off limits, not that he’d really want to go in there anyway. And now the bathroom didn’t have a lock.

At least it still has a door, Kensi, he told himself, shutting it behind him. Be grateful for that much.

It was kind of hard to be.

Kensington took a breath and looked at himself in the mirror. The scar on his face was healing well, now just a raised pink line. The bags under his eyes from lack of sleep were worse. He was paler. His hair didn’t curl quite as much as it used to. He looked like the tossed out slaves he’d see on the side of road and give his extra food to because he felt bad for them. Kensington’s eyes filled with tears. He looked awful. He looked like he never wanted to see himself again.

He shook his head, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Knock it off. Master’s only in the living room, he’ll hear you if you cry. Don’t be a baby. He took a steadying breath, ignored the tightness in his throat, and got on with what he came to do.

He opened his mouth and pulled back his cheek, looking inside. There, on a tooth in the back of his top row of teeth, was a painful black spot that had been bothering him for days. It hurt to eat hot food and drink cold water. He couldn’t chew on that side. He apparently ground his teeth in his sleep last night, because he woke up with his whole jaw throbbing in pain.

It was a cavity, he thought. Those have to be fixed, don’t they? Yeah, a slave a couple houses ago had one and it got infected really bad. He was taken to the dentist and came back with his face swollen and numb, blood falling from the corners of his mouth. That master had been livid about the money he’d had to spend.

Kensington’s heart fell. What would his master do? He sure wouldn’t want to help him, he knew that much. Would he take him to the dentist? Master had taken him to the clinic when his eye was hurt, so maybe…

“Kensington!”

He cringed at the sound of his master’s voice, but hurried out of the bathroom to him nonetheless. What other choice did he have?

-----------------------------------

Kensington winced, chewing slower. He sat on the floor of the living room, Master on the couch behind him, but sitting where Kensington could see him. He had hardly eaten any of his dinner even though he was starving. Every bite hurt.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He froze, glancing up at Master. “Hmm?”

“You’re hardly eating. You always eat. So what’s wrong with you?”

Kensington hesitated. Should he tell him what’s really wrong? He might help, but he also might just make it worse… But there was also no chance it would get better on it’s own. “Uh, it’s my tooth. It… hurts.”

Master raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of food. “Your tooth hurts?” he asked, mouth open while he chewed. Kensington swallowed back his annoyance and disgust and nodded. “Hmm. Show me.”

Kensington set his plate on the coffee table and crawled over to his master, flinching when he took him by the jaw and forced his mouth open.

“Left or right?”

“Left. On the top.”

He shined the light of his phone and looked for a few tense moments before letting go. “Looks like a nasty cavity. Don’t you brush your teeth?”

Kensington didn’t answer as Master fell into silence, thinking. Hopefully thinking about when to take him to the dentist, but in the back of his mind he really didn’t think that would happen.

“Alright. Stay here.” He got up and headed to the garage, leaving his nervous slave behind.

Nothing good ever came from the garage. Every time Master went there, he only brought back pain. Kensington should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Compared to other things he’s felt, this really wasn’t that bad. He would’ve survived just fine with the pain but now Master was going to come back with something awful and hurt him. His heart pounded in chest as he heard Master rifling through the garage.

He came back soon… with pliers in hand.

Kensington exhaled hard, like all is air was stolen at once. “Oh. Um, Master, I don’t think--”

“Then stop thinking.”

“You really don’t need to pull my tooth, sir,” Kensington said quietly. Just the thought of anything touching it made the pain worse, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Master wouldn’t even pull it quickly, like you would with a loose tooth. He’d probably stretch it out, listening to Kensington’s screams and tears and not even caring at all.

Master’s eyes widened in faux shock. “What? No! No, I wouldn’t do that. You will.”

Really, all Kensington could do was stare at him as the words settled in his mind, louder and scarier than anything he’s heard in a while. You will. “What?” he asked, lips barely moving.

Master held out the pliers, handle first. “Pull out your tooth.”

His mouth opened and closed with no words coming out. Not again, he thought miserably. Don’t make my hurt myself again. “Master…”

“Either you do it or I will.” He took another bite of food. “In three days. Want it to stop hurting now? You do it tonight.”

Now that Master knew it hurt, he’d probably make it the worst three days ever. Not to mention him actually pulling it out… Kensington felt tears sting the back of his eyes but he pushed them away. It would be much worse if he cried beforehand.

With a sickening sense of deja-vu, he took the pliers and followed Master to the kitchen sink. He looked at him one last time, pleading with his eyes to make this stop, but all he got in return was a horribly familiar look of expectation.

The faster he did it the faster it would end, and maybe then he could beg Master for some painkillers… He also tended to back off a bit after a big punishment so hopefully Kensington could have a few days to himself to heal.

Okay… just get it over with.

But as he opened his mouth and lightly gripped his tooth with the pliers, his hands began to shake. His breaths came short and heavy as a sweat broke out on his forehead. His limbs froze up. He looked desperately to his master, but all he did was cross his arms over his chest and lean lazily against the counter.

“I don’t have all night, Kensington,” he said. “I’m not going to help you this time, either, so you better get going.”

The longer it took, the more impatient Master would get. The longer he would hurt. The longer it would be until he could go to his room and cry himself to sleep. If he could cut off his own finger, he could pull out his own tooth. It should be easier, right? People get teeth pulled all the time. It would be fine. He just had to do it.

But the last time he was forced to do something like this he was blinded by panic and adrenaline. He had no other choice. Tonight was just a regular night until now, and Kensington was clear-headed despite his pain, which allowed all the fear and unwillingness to get in his head and freeze his body. He could really stop and think about what he was doing and how badly it would hurt. And he didn’t want to do it.

“You’re pissing me off, Kensington,” Master said after a minute or two. “I could give you worse options, you know.” Kensington’s eyes shut. He knew. “Tell you what. If you do it within the next two minutes, I’ll even give you one of my good painkillers before you go to sleep.”

That did it. Kensington opened his eyes and leaned over the sink, taking one deep breath in before pulling hard.

He let out a groan that turned into a breathy scream as the pain intensified, spreading throughout his whole head and making white spots appear in front of his eye. Blood filled his mouth and spilled onto his chin, dripping steadily into the pristine steel sink. Nausea overcame him suddenly and he gagged on the taste of the blood, leaning forward so none of it slid down his throat.

Kensington ignored the overwhelming urge to drop the pliers and stop the pain he was inflicting upon himself, taking another quick breath through his nose and pulling again, this time with much less resolve. Tears mixed with blood as he screamed again, his other hand gripping the counter to hold himself up, legs shaking. Kensington whimpered as he gripped the pliers tighter, squeezed his eyes shut, and finally yanked the tooth free.

He collapsed to his knees, sobbing as the pain receded a small amount. Blood and drool continued to poor from his mouth, staining his shirt red. He opened his eyes as Master knelt by him, his face unreadable and blurry through the tears.

“See, Kensington?” he said. “That wasn’t too hard, now, was it?”

Kensington froze, mouth open and still drooling blood. Wasn’t too hard? Wasn’t too hard? He just lost another part of himself. He was forced to make himself suffer through pointless pain again just because Master wanted him to! Living here every day was ‘too hard’! Kensington was suddenly overcome with a rage so fierce he wanted to scream. Instead, he did something he knew he would regret from the moment it crossed his mind. He tilted his head up, glared at his master, and spit blood directly in his face.

Master reached up slowly, wiping the blood off his face and staring at Kensington with shock-filled eyes that Kensington returned. They stayed like that for a long moment as they both fully realized what he had just done.

Then Master moved all at once, taking Kensington by his blood-soaked shirt and hauling him down the hall.

“W-wait,” Kensington begged uselessly, knowing that there was nothing he could say, “wait Master I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to--”

“When will you learn that I don’t care what you want?” Master opened the door to the garage and tossed Kensington inside, his knees hitting the cement floor as he scrambled to sit up before Master could kick him.

But Master only stood there, smiling smugly and looking behind Kensington, like he was waiting for him to turn around. Hesitantly, he did, and his whole face paled.

There, in the middle of the garage, was a wooden chest, a lock hanging innocently off the latch. It looked sturdy and modern. And just big enough for an underfed teenage boy to fit inside.

Kensington swallowed, then gagged at the taste of blood. More tears gathered in his eyes at the fear gripping his heart.

“Wh… what is that?” he whispered.

“It’s just a little something I picked up for you.” Master rested a hand on Kensington’s head, gripping his hair. Not pulling. Not yet.

“For… for me?” Kensington’s jaw trembled, his head still pulsing with pain.

“Mmhmm. Let’s go.” Master gripped his hair, pulling him up and hauling him towards the chest.

Kensington wished he still had that foolish anger he possessed only a couple of minutes ago. Now he could only watch in paralyzed terror as he was dragged harshly towards one of his worst fears. He didn’t fight Grays-- Master as he opened the lid and pushed his slave onto his back inside this new torture.

Only once the lid closed and Kensington was blanketed in suffocating darkness did he unfreeze. He sobbed forcefully, his legs kicking out but immediately hitting the rough wooden lid of the chest. He couldn’t even move his arms at all, stuck with them crossed overtop of him. Tears fell and gathered in his ears, his chest heaving for breath. He sobbed again at the sound of the lock clicking shut, sealing him in hell.

“Master!” Kensington cried, the sound echoing back around him. “Master I’m sorry! I’m -- I’m so sorry just pl-please let me out! Please!” He coughed as blood ran down his throat, his dread taking a new form. He kicked out again, horrible, panicked sounds coming from deep inside himself. “Master please! Please don’t leave me here!” He screamed and coughed, the blood pooling inside his mouth. “Please I can’t -- I can’t breathe! Please I can’t breathe!”

Oh this was so so much worse than being tied up in the hall closet. At least there he could see light under the bottom of the door and he could stand and hold himself as he cried but he was just trapped with nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait until he ran out of air and passed out or worse --

“MASTER!” Kensington screamed, his throat burning as blood kept going down. “Please! I don’t --” he coughed again, “I don’t want to die here! Please please! I don’t want to die here! Just let me -- let me out! Please why are you doing this?! Just let me go! I’m sorry!”

Kensington coughed on the blood again, but this time he couldn’t get in another breath. His eyes widened as he gasped in vain, kicking out at the lid. His chest heaved uselessly, gargling the blood caught in his throat.

I’m dying, he thought. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die locked in this stupid box and no one’s even going to care. He killed me.

He started to get lightheaded, his incessant kicking slowing down as his eyes slid shut.

Grayson killed me.

-----------------------------------

A firm hit to his back woke Kensington up. He coughed hard, gasping for air and crying when he realized he could actually breathe it in this time. Kensington took a few deep breaths, eyes tightly shut, before leaning over and expelling all the blood he’d swallowed.

“You’ll have to clean that up, you know.”

He flinched back at the sound of Grayson’s voice, opening his eyes. He was sitting not even a foot away, the lock hanging off the chest behind him. Kensington’s chest and head ached, and he could already feel the bruises forming on his knees.

Grayson stood, making Kensington flinch again. “There’s blood on the kitchen floor,” he said, heading to the door. “I want it cleaned before you go to bed.” He opened the door and paused, turning back. “We’re not done here, Kensington. You have something else coming.” He slammed the door behind him.

Kensington waited until he heard the distant sound of his bedroom door closing before he exhaled in relief.

It wasn’t over. Grayson had said he had something else coming, and that thought alone made him want to break down into tears again. But now, behind his abject fear and conditioned respect for Grayson, there was a deep hatred growing. Kensington didn’t quite know what to do with it, but he knew he wanted it to stay, and grow, for as long as he was forced to live in that house.

-----------------------------------

Taglist: @batfacedliar-yetagain @haro-whumps