#assassin whumper

[abhainnwhump]

I will never turn down a Whumper going out to assassinate Whumpee, only to realize they're too sweet and/or pretty and they can't do it, falling in love with Whumpee instead. They know their boss is going to probably kill them, but they refuse to harm, much less kill Whumpee. They don't deserve it.

[distracted-obsessions]

Ok, but imagine Villain/Henchman/Assassin Whumpee being found by the heroes while they raided Supervillain Whumper's lair and they take Whumpee into custody. They don't handcuff Whumpee because they aren't fighting back (either too injured or in shock) but as they lead Whumpee out of the lair, Whumpee stops.

"Did you find them?"

"Find who?"

Whumpee pulls away from them and goes deeper into the lair. Every time the heroes grab them, they get more and more distressed, saying that they can't leave. They won't leave. After a minute, they start screaming out a name that the heroes don't recognize.

Just as one of the heroes goes to knock Whumpee out, they see a child crawl out from under the stairs and run straight for Whumpee who drops to their knees and hugs the child tightly, shushing their cries and whispering soft, comforting words. "Shh, it's ok. Mommy/Daddy is here. I'm ok. We're ok. it's ok. Shh."

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee: Final 1/2

CW: Betrayal, team whump, whumper turned caretaker, assassination attempt, hurt/comfort, annggsst

[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]

Whumper watched over whumpee all throughout the night. Whumpee would wake up, not remember where they were, then struggle until whumper soothed them back asleep.

Whumper knew the sleepless nights would catch up with them eventually. They downed a tall cup of coffee, hoping to stay awake until morning...

------

Whumpee woke up that morning staring wide-eyed at whumper fast asleep on the bed with them. "Hey." Whumpee spoke, testfully poked whumper's arm. They groaned, but remained out cold.

Whumpee climbed over them and touched their bare foot to the floor, they immediately felt something cold as they flinched. There was spilt coffee at the foot of the bed along with an assortment of papers. They were badly stained, any information whumpee could have gleaned were long gone.

A silver key was dangling from whumper's pocket. If whumpee couldn't find information here, then there would be something elsewhere.

They clutched the key and snuck out of the infirmary. There were guards patrolling the halls as whumpee ducked around the corner. They let the guards pass, before slipping into the hall behind them. Whumpee tried every door they passed, all locked tight and the key fit none of them.

There was one last engraved door at the end of the hall. Whumpee heard the guards coming back around as they trembled and kept missing the keyhole. There was a silent *click* as the door swung open. Whumpee jumped in and shut the door behind them, taking a deep sigh of relief.

They stood in what seemed to be whumper's office; a large wooden desk, walls adorned with weapons, massive bookshelves. Everything whumpee expected whumper's office to look like, really.

They turned on a lamp and rooted through the desk. There were moundfuls of documents detailing whumpee's team. There were things here whumpee didn't even know... Things they weren't classified to know. They were told whumper was a murderer, someone who killed on sight; they took no prisoners and mercy was unheard of.

"Then why did you save me?" Whumpee whispered, looking at a framed picture of whumper proudly standing with their team. "Why capture me for intel if you had it already?"

In the depths of a drawer, whumpee found a roughly bound journal. It was branded with whumpee's team logo. They recognized it; each team carried one to document missions. Even whumpee had their own, though this one looked ancient...

They opened the first page before suddenly, the door opened and the lights flashed on. Whumpee gasped and dropped the book, frozen as they looked up like a deer in headlights. The person staring back had the very same expression. Horror, adrenaline, confusion.

-It was one of whumpee's teammates, dressed darkly and hooded as they took an astonished step towards whumpee.

"Whumpee? You're alive?" They whispered. "How? We thought they killed you." They gasped. Whumpee covered their mouth and clambered back to their feet. They were flooded with relief seeing a friendly face. They tried to figure out how to say a million words in a single breath.

"It's a long story-" Whumpee heaved, "I've been kept here by whumper, I got hurt in the attack and I-I was bleeding out and I was-" Whumpee trailed off with a flicker of doubt. They knew their team would think whumpee betrayed them if they were found alive in whumper's custody. The amount of intel that could be tortured out of them...

"I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't looking right at you." Their teammate filled in the silence, taking a step closer. "To think all this time, you survived..."

They didn't sound happy. Both of their eyes dropped to the journal between their feet, branded with their symbol.

"Ah, I see... So you found it." Their teammate stared.

"Found what? What have you not told me?" Whumpee demanded.

They crouched down to pick up the book, as they heard a *sswick* of a blade being unsheathed. Whumpee stopped in their tracks. They slowly looked up and stared into the tip of a blade and the eyes of someone who was no ally.

"I really am sorry." Their teammate whispered softly. "But you died that day, whumpee. It has to stay that way, for the good of all of us. You understand, don't you?" They took a step closer as whumpee snatched the book in their arms and backed away.

"Oh, come on, don't make this difficult. You've died once for us already. You can do it one more time, can't you?" They tilted their head.

"Can't I know why?" Whumpee's voice broke as their back hit the wall. "I- I didn't give you up, I didn't tell whumper anything. They weren't even what I thought they were... They weren't what you told me!" Whumpee suddenly shouted.

"I'm sure you didn't, you were always loyal. But it was never about that."

The blade came to their throat as whumpee shuttered and closed their eyes. The sound of a blade piercing flesh, a hot splatter of blood hit their chest, yet they felt nothing but cold adrenaline.

There was hollow silence. Whumpee opened their eyes, their teammate's face was blank as they sunk to the floor on their knees. Their silhouette was replaced by whumper, holding a dripping blade with a look of pure hatred.

"They dare set foot in my house!?" Whumper shouted. Their eyes suddenly darted to whumpee, who flinched. Their back was to the corner, face stained with blood, they trembled while hugging the journal to their chest.

"How did you get- ... No, one thing at a time." Whumper stopped themselves, putting the blade out of sight. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" They asked instead, nudging the corpse off their feet.

"I'm- ... I'm not hurt." Whumpee responded rapidly, trying not to show they were gasping for breath. "They were going to k-kill me." Whumpee touched their fingers to their chest where their teammates blood was splattered. "And you just... S-saved my life..."

"As much as I want to gloat and say I told you so- I'm just glad I got here when I did. Come with me, let's get you changed and we'll talk." Whumper held out their hand.

To be continued, 2/2

[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut @anonintrovert @sausages-things

[chaotic-orphan]

The Assassin’s Hamartia

“Ah… I see it now,” Bounty Hunter said. Assassin kept her gaze fixed ahead of her, which just so happened to be into the fire that they were camped around for the evening. Bounty Hunter bound her wrists behind her back, and while they were camping, bound her wrists to her ankles so she couldn’t get away too quickly without causing a commotion.

Bounty Hunter propped her chin up with the tip of his boot that made Assassin physically recoil. Bounty Hunter laughed. A loud, harsh sound. “The terrifying Assassin, the scourge of the Kingdom, is afraid of dirt?”

Assassin wanted to level Bounty Hunter with a glare. Tell him he was a fool and an idiot for suggesting such a ridiculous notion. Instead, she tried to look away, her cheeks heated with a pink shame.

“Hold on, Darlin’,” Bounty Hunter said as he crouched down and took her chin between his calloused, dirty fingers and forced her to look up into his smiling brown eyes. “The Queen of blood is afraid of not having a shower?”

“You’re just reciting all my titles from bards,” Assassin spat. “You must be a fan.”

“And you’re not denying you’re a little princess, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that,” Assassin hissed, struggling to free her arms. “Aren’t you just supposed to bring me back to the King? Not talk me to death.”

“I can do whatever I like to you, sweetheart,” he said and the threat hung in the air like one of Assassin’s knives; poised over the jugular, ready to strike. “Oh yes. Which means…”

Without finishing his sentence, Bounty Hunter slapped a pile of mud against Assassin’s cheek and she gasped, her head flinging to the side. “I can do that.”

“No,” Assassin said, shrugging, trying to get the dirt off her cheek. This is ridiculous. How the fuck had he seen that after only being with her for a few hours?! Not even her closest confidants knew that, nevermind her enemies— he… “Please, please. Get it off.”

Bounty Hunter laughed and got to his feet, walking back over to his tree and with a satisfied sigh he dropped and reclined against the bark, smirking at Assassin over the flames.

“I like to get down and dirty, darlin’. You just have to put up and shut up. But I do like to see how you squirm with a bit of mud. I may as well have shot your dog or summat.”

Assassin glared at him. Bounty Hunter smirked. “Well, have fun with that. We ride at dawn.”

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Assassin Rescues Prisoner from Target's house part 2

TW: blood, intense torture, recovery, pain, death, assassination, severe whump, etc.

CONTINUED:

The next morning he awoke to find that the boy hadn't moved an inch, still unconscious. But at least he'd survived the night. Jax busied himself with cleanup, pausing every now and again to check on the prisoner.

Two more days passed, and the prisoner still remained comatose, unresponsive. Jax regularly changed the dressings on his wounds, swapping out blood-soaked gauze with fresh ones. It was tedious care, and Jax kept trying to convince himself that it wasn't worth his time. But something kept urging him to help the poor ruined soul beneath the marred body. The boy's skin clung tightly to his bones, and he looked a lot like a living skeleton. A pitiful sight indeed.

It was on the third day when Jax finally heard the boy first start to stir to consciousness, and stopped in his tracks where he'd been preparing a meal for himself to approach the couch and crouch down next to it, checking the boy's pulse. Still weak, but much better than when he had first found him. He waited patiently as the prisoner's fingers twitched, followed by his eyes cracking open for the first time. A low moan escaped him through parted lips as his eyelids fluttered and he opened them wider.

His gaze was confused and blurry for a beat before his eyes landed on the assassin next to where he was laying. And Jax saw the raw terror that twisted his features, and knew what to expect. The boy tried to spring up and scramble away, to hide in the nearest corner, but let out a sharp cry of pure agony and clutched his bandaged midsection.

Jax quickly grabbed his arms and pinned him back to the couch to keep him from making a second attempt and risk tearing the stitches out. His hands were firm, but not unkind as he held him down.

The prisoner thrashed and writhed as much as his weak and broken body would allow, longing to run away, but he easily overpowered him as pathetic scared whimpers escaped him.

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you!" Jax barked. But it was like the teenager couldn't hear him, twisting desperately to try and wrench out of his unyielding grip. But his struggles rapidly grew weaker as the outburst sapped the last of his strength, and he was left panting, eyes wide and wild as he stared up at Jax with nothing but raw fear and terror and pain clouding his gaze, another small whimper leaking out. His forehead was already drenched with sweat, and Jax could feel his whole body trembling with fear beneath the hands keeping him pinned helplessly to the couch.

"That's it... You're okay..." Jax said gruffly, trying to sound reassuring. It wasn't exactly his strong suit.

The teen squeezed his eyes shut as terrified tears leaked out, breathing shallow and uneven. Jax's gut sank at that. He knew exactly what was happening. He was trying to dissociate, separate his conscious mind from his body to make himself numb to any torture and pain.

"Hey... open your eyes," Jax said softly. The prisoner kept them shut, but after a solid minute or two, cautiously cracked them open again, looking confused that no further pain had been inflicted upon his frail form.

"See? I'm not the enemy. If I let you go, are you going to try and get up?"

The teen immediately gave a terrified shake of his head, eyes still wide with muted panic, obviously hoping it was the answer he was looking for.

Jax hesitantly released the tight grip he had on the boy's arms, ready to grab him again if he made a move. But the kid stayed as rigidly still as humanly possible despite how his whole body shook with fear and pain, as if even the slightest movement might break the promise and make the assassin attack him for being disobedient.

Jax stepped back to sit in the chair next to the couch, consciously moving slowly to not spook the teenager whose eyes tracked his every movement. He offered him a reassuring smile, which strangely seemed to have the complete opposite effect on the boy. The prisoner's whole body seized up with terror, enough to override his shakiness as his muscles instinctively locked up.

Jax immediately dropped the smile, recognizing it as a trauma trigger. By the stars, what had they done to the poor kid to break him this thoroughly?

"I'm sorry for startling you." Jax tried for an apology instead, testing if that was a better approach. But the boy only eyed him warily, nervous sweat now drenching his whole body.

"Can you tell me what happened to make you end up like this?" He gestured to the teen's broken body. The boy opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he closed it again, too scared to speak. His eyes were glazed and dull, hollow and pained.

"Well, can you at least give me your name?" Jax pressed gently.

The prisoner licked his dry, cracked lips, before opening his mouth again, finally finding his voice. "...A-Atlas," he whispered hoarsely, his voice no more than a raspy breath of air, raw from screaming after endless hours of torture.

Jax nodded thoughtfully, and considered extending a friendly hand to shake, but decided it would probably only make the situation worse, considering how scared Atlas already was of him. "Hmph. Mine's Jax," he offered instead. Atlas didn't say anything more, and a long, awkward silence fell between them, charged with unspoken tension.

Until Jax gruffly cleared his throat and got to his feet, aiming to return to where he'd been in the middle of preparing his meal. In his peripheral he watched Atlas flinch hard at the movement. Poor kid. He quickly finished making the food, but instead of eating it himself like he'd intended, he casually walked back over to the couch, offering the bowl of soup to Atlas.

Atlas immediately cringed away from him with wide eyes as he held the bowl out, looking like he was trying to shrink in on himself and disappear.

Jax's brow furrowed with confusion at his distress. It was obvious that Atlas hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. He would have expected him to be grateful for the opportunity to fill his empty stomach.

"Come on... you have to at least eat something," he encouraged softly, holding the bowl closer. But Atlas only pulled away even further, struggling into a sitting position and pressing himself as far back into the couch as he could go, as though Jax were holding a lethal weapon. Atlas shook his head with a small whimper.

"Why don't you want to eat?" Jax prodded, sensing an underlying reason. It took a minute for Atlas to muster the strength and courage to answer, though his voice still wobbled with fear.

"I-Is it... p-poisoned?" He croaked uselessly. Jax felt another wave of hot anger wash over him, directed at the people who had done this to him.

"No... it's not," he answered with a frown. "Did... did the people who did this to you give you poisoned food?"

Another minute to answer. "Y-Yes," Atlas stammered quietly, his voice barely audible. "I-I was always given food that was s-spoiled to make me sick..." His throat bobbed as he swallowed uncomfortably, eyeing the bowl of soup with wistful and desperate longing, but also distrust. "W-Why would you give me... good food?" He added, almost in a subtle, accusing challenge. But his face only showed genuine confusion.

Jax could hardly believe he was having this conversation. "Because I'm going to help you heal," he said through teeth gritted in anger. Anger at the cruelty of it all.

"But... why?" Atlas choked out, eyes watering. "W-What do you want in return?" Suspecting an ulterior motive, it seemed. And Jax couldn't blame him, after what he'd been through.

"I don't want anything from you, other than to see you get better," Jax finally sighed. Maybe he was going soft. He cursed himself for it.

It took forever, but at last, Atlas reluctantly reached for the bowl of soup with shaking hands, but still stayed as physically far away from Jax as he could manage. Jax didn't move a muscle as he took the bowl from him, making sure not to startle the kid as Atlas sniffed the bowl cautiously, but hungrily. Then he finally let himself take a bite, and soon he'd wolfed down the entire meal, his gut-wrenching hunger getting the better of him.

"Better?" Jax asked. Atlas only nodded stiffly. Barely acknowledging.

"Will you... let me change your wound dressings?" Jax ventured. But Atlas's hands started trembling again, and he got the hint, raising his own hands in a non-threatening manner.

"Another time, perhaps," he said quickly, and could have sworn he saw relief in Atlas's tired eyes.

"You should get some rest to heal," Jax suggested, and walked over to the chair he'd been sleeping in the past few days where he could keep a close eye on Atlas, settling down and pulling the blanket over him.

Atlas struggled with some difficulty to lay down on the couch again, wincing at every one of the wounds that sent blasting pain through his frail figure. But finally, he closed his eyes, and Jax could hear his breathing deepen as exhaustion soon claimed his mind. And Jax soon followed.

But he later awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling. He got up and went to the couch to check on Atlas, and found him twitching weakly, fighting some phantom force, in the throes of a nightmare. Small whimpers and sobs occasionally slipped out between hitched, hiccuping breaths, and even in the dark Jax could see the sweat glistening on his pale skin.

With a weary sigh, Jax gently set his own blanket atop him, a small gesture of comfort and peace, no matter how insignificant. Atlas flinched, and for a second Jax wondered if he was actually awake, especially when a slurred voice sounded.

"Why don't you just... kill me already?" Atlas's muffled voice mumbled half-coherently.

Jax's chest twisted with sympathy as he leaned over Atlas. "...I don't know," he whispered softly. An honest answer. Because he truly didn't know why he was bothering to help. Without another word, he retreated back to his chair and fell asleep again.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Figuwhump: Day Five

"I could kick your skinny ass any day of the week."

"Do it and see what happens."

(For more information, check out @figuwhump 's pinned post!)

Wildefire Masterlist

[cepheusgalaxy]

Caretaker who is a part of a group of assassins, or maybe another armed group. They have a mission and go with a partner to get a target. Caretaker's partner insists on it despiste Caretaker not wanting to, and they take an opportunitg where the target's family is involved. The target's child and spouse... On the end, they end up traumatizing a child and possibly killing/hurting the spouse and killing the target. Caretaker then rebels against their partner because what they did was WRONG and now they ran away--quit the group--and took the child, Whumpee, under their wing.

"I did not want to do that".

Whumpee looks up at them, their eyes bloodshot and filled with rage.

"It was a simple decision for you, wasn't it? Destroy someone's life or no. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, would it?" Their voice was filled with sarcasm.

Caretaker couldn't bear to look at them.

"I'm-I'm sorry."

Whumpee looked away and didn't spoke to then for the rest of the night.

[whumpdaydreamerx]

An assassin Whumpee leaning against their car door after completing a job. Replaying what unfolded just moments before, having been ordered, threatened, to kill a family of five.

All at once, their resolve fractures as a thunderstorm breaks. Gun still in their gloved hand, they bring their palms up to rest on their eyes as they begin to sob. Whumpee slides down the car as they weep over what they’ve done. As they sit there huddled into themselves, soaked to their skin with rain, a switch flips.

Once they regain composure, they make a promise to themselves. From this moment forward, they vowed to do everything in their power to take down the organization they worked for. Save their threatened family, redeem themselves, and protect future targets.

[thats-by-the-by]

"It's For Your Own Good."

This fic was crossposted on Ao3. Find it Here. Mind the tags.

"What are you going to do to me?" Jacob's voice is nearly silent as Roth leads him down an empty corridor, panicked actors fleeing from the pair. Roth keeps a hand on the small of his back, the other on the nape of his neck. A warning and a reassurance, packaged together.

"Don't worry about that, my Rook." Roth's voice is syrup in his ears, sending a shiver down his back. "You've caused a bit too much of a stir, and I'm going to correct that."

"I'm sorry." Jacob begs preemptively, gaining an appreciative hum from the older man. "I'm sorry, please don't-"

"Oh, we're well past the point where begging would save you." Roth says, leading Jacob down a flight of empty stairs.

Jacob's heart hammers in his chest as his body freezes without input, fear lacing his throat. Roth tuts impatiently, trying to push Jacob forward, but he doesn't move. He can't go back there. He can't go back into that cell, into that tiny room filled with the vast emptiness of the uncaring abyss. He can't- he won't go back there.

"Come now, Jacob." Roth sounds disapointed. "You knew what I would do if you made a scene. This is for your own good, my boy. Do you think I like when you hurt yourself? Do you think I enjoy hearing you scream and rave in there?"

"No." Jacob says. Of course he doesn't - Roth always holds him so tight after those days in the cell. Always bandages his hands and kisses his wounds until Jacob can't tell why they're stinging at all. He spares no expenses, the sweetest tea with the highest quality honey and milk straight from a farm. Of course Maxwell doesn't like it when Jacob forces him to punish him, no matter how wide he smiles or how gleeful his expression. "I'm sorry, I know you don't like this anymore than I do."

"My bird, I hate it more than you." Roth kisses the back of his throat with his teeth. "But you keep forcing my hand. The cell is unlocked. I'll return for you in twelve hours. Please don't be so dramatic this time."

Jacob nods, his eyes unseeing as he walks himself into the void, shutting and locking the door behind him. He can behave. He can be good. Roth loves him, right? This is for his own good.

[freefallingup13]

Choice [Beck Marley]

Yeah I got that weird grave man on my mind and it's gotten me to write a complete fic for the first time in like. At least a year. God damn.

TW/CW; Threat of murder, freshly dug grave and being forced to sit at the edge of it, gun (pistol), boss hiring a hitman, gagged, tied completely by rope, and this is a captivity fic (though captivity doesn't start yet)

~~

They couldn’t help but flinch away as the stranger approached them again. They’d already been roughly thrown aside, apparently ‘in the way’ of the dirt being dug out of their grave. But now… now, it was done.

The stranger didn’t even grab them directly. Wriggling his fingers underneath the rope that bound them, he pulled them up from the ground. 

Dirt scraped as they were dragged to the foot of the grave. Their eyes landed on the mound of soil that would soon be poured over their body. It sure did look like a lot. Hopefully it wouldn’t hurt.

Well - it wouldn’t. Of course not. Dead people don’t hurt.

They squeaked past the gag as they were lifted up to their feet, then shoved down onto their knees. The ropes dug into their legs, having been tied when they were straight. It was hard for them to keep their balance as the stranger stepped away, letting them go. Balancing with their arms bound behind them wasn’t easy.

It was the click of a gun that made them stop squirming. 

Oh.

Shit.

The stranger was checking the amount of ammo in the pistol, not even looking at them. Satisfied, he clicked the magazine back into the handle and flicked the safety off.

“You ready?” he asked, flicking up his hat. His voice sounded so strange, like it wasn’t his tone that was dry, but his throat, along with every other inch of his being. 

His hand reached for their face, and they shrank into themselves. “Relax,” the stranger drawled, reaching behind their head. “I’ve just got a habit of letting people have their last words.”

The gag was untied, thrown away. A groan escaped them as they tried to close their jaw. After so many hours, it felt stiff with pain.

The stranger was kind enough to give them a moment, but he eventually kneeled down in front of them. He had a slightly amused look in his eyes as he pointed the barrel of the pistol between their eyes. 

“So? Any last words?”

Their mind raced, but they were strangely able to keep up. (Maybe it was their panic that he wouldn’t give them last words at all, and was just trying to get them to sit still in thought.)

What kind of last words did they consider worth saying? Nothing deep and philosophical would matter when there was just this murderer to hear them. And they didn’t really have any qualms that needed to be settled on their death bed.

They didn’t…

Hm.

“Just do it.”

Beck raised an eyebrow, tilting his head a little. “Hm?”

“Just… do it,” the kid blurted out. “I don’t have anything.”

He stared. Couldn’t help but snort. “You serious?” he asked. “Nothing at all?”

The kid grit their teeth. “No,” they seethed, trembling. “I don’t have anything to say. 

“I’ve got nobody to pray to, I’ve got no friends or family. I don’t have anybody who I’d wish would save me. All I had was my job, and I know exactly who hired you to get rid of me.”

Beck said nothing. The kid sure had something to say, might as well let them get it out. 

“So just- just do it,” they mumbled, their sudden bravado beginning to crumble. “Nobody’s going to miss me while I’m gone. Nobody’ll even know. So just… get it over with.”

Another moment of silence.

“Just… do it quickly.”

The stranger remained silent. Damn, for not knowing what to say, they sure said a lot. They felt stupid. Pouring out their loneliness to a stranger. To their assassin.

A cold rim of gunmetal pressed into the bottom of their jaw, making them shiver and automatically straighten up. They struggled to keep their breathing calm, shutting their eyes tightly.

“... Lonely kid, aren’t you?”

They couldn’t help but sob. He couldn’t make this any faster? Did he have to tease them?

“Hey. Kid.” The barrel of the gun dug into their skin. “Answer, will ya?”

Their chest heaved as they tried to let go of the breath they were holding. “Yes,” they responded. Here they were, leaning back onto the precipice of disaster, at the edge of their grave, on the wrong end of a gun. “Of course I am. You heard what I said. Are you deaf?”

The stranger laughed. Oh, stupid, stupid. Why did they have to insult him? Their stupid mouth-

The gun moved away from their skin, and they heard another click.

But it wasn’t the last thing they heard.

“Nobody, huh?” the stranger mused under his breath, scratching his head with the- They opened their eyes. Scratching his head with the pistol, barrel pointed at his own skull. “You’re sure about that?”

They stared. “... Yeah?” they said incredulously. “What- Wasn’t it easy to catch me?”

“... I guess,” the stranger mumbled, looking off into the distance. “Here. Tell you what.”

He put the pistol next to him, laying it onto the ground. He was already balanced back onto his heels, and he put his elbows onto his knees as he addressed them. “Your bosses. You know they gave me the contract. Yeah?”

They couldn’t tell if they were still in shock, or the adrenaline was wearing down. They just nodded.

“Cool.” He seemed to think for a moment before he spoke again. “You know, the contract, word for word, just said to ‘get rid of you’.

“So, technically,” he said slowly, “I don’t have to kill you. That’s not what the old guy said.”

What? What? 

“... So what does that mean?” they asked cautiously. “What, you let me go, and I just… run? Never come back?”

Their stomach sank as they saw him roll his eyes. “This ain’t a movie, kid, come on. Nah. I got a better idea.”

He looked over his shoulder, then jerked a thumb towards the cabin. “See that? That’s my home. That’s mine.”

They… didn’t like where this was going. 

“Now, it gets…” he waved his hand. “Tell you the truth, it gets fucked up in there. I never feel like cleaning, even between contracts. Like, I have to, I just… don’t.”

… Now they were confused.

“You want a maid?”

He scoffed. “Nah. That’s just part of it. I do have another idea, though.”

His eyes stared into theirs as he gestured again. “You stay there, in that cabin. You don’t leave. And you help me figure out… let’s say, new techniques.”

Before they could think of a response, he had picked up the gun again, and was studying it carefully. “You do that,” he said, “and I won’t kill you. You get to live.”

They looked towards the cabin. Then back at him.

“I don’t even know your name.”

The stranger snorted. “It’s Beck,” he said. “Beck Marley. And now that I’ve said that…”

They flinched as the pistol was pointed back towards them. “You’re on my shitlist again,” the stranger - Beck - said calmly. “So, now you got the same two options. A… I kill you, save my own skin, since you know my name. Or…” He silently nodded towards the cabin.

Looking towards the cabin sheepishly, they avoided looking at the gun. It didn’t look… that bad. And they’d always wanted to go run away and live in the woods, away from people. Cleaning wasn’t so bad. “Figuring out new techniques” couldn’t be that bad. 

“What’s it gonna be, kid?” Beck asked, casually flicking the safety off on the gun. “You gonna stay, or die?”

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 4 - The Shadow of Death

Happy birthday to meeeee!

This piece is canon. I finally let Kamaria loose as a whumper for once!

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Masterlist

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Contains: whumpee turned whumper, lady whumper, mild gore, blood, murder, stabbing, past genocide, referenced fire, trauma, fantastic racism

.

.

Kamaria moves like the shadow that people call her - though they don’t know her, only what she leaves behind. Most think she’s a man, because they can’t imagine a woman doing what she does. Others swear she must be a ghost, since no one has ever actually seen her. 

The truth is, plenty have seen her. They just haven’t lived to tell about it. 

Tonight, her heart pounds a bit harder than usual as she makes her way through the compound. This mission, as far as her father and Ethorcon are concerned, is just yet another removal of a leader in Kedosa’s army to help their next attack be more successful. It’s nothing special. 

But for her, tonight is personal. She knows this particular unit. She knows what their leader did.

The two guards pacing close by the Colonel’s tent fall dead quietly, one with a slit throat and one with a knife protruding from his chest. She needs privacy for what’s coming next. Retrieving the knife and wiping off blood on her skirt, she strides toward the large tent and throws open the flap.

He’s asleep, as most are at this hour. Kamaria walks closer, boots silent on the hard-packed dirt, until she’s staring down at the unsuspecting monster. So smug, even in his sleep. Uncaring of the hundreds of lives he’s completely destroyed.

Well, two can play the game of monster.

She wakes him with a stab to the arm. Normally she doesn’t mess around - one stab in the heart or slice through the throat and she’s done. It’s just a job, just something she has to do to survive and to work towards her revenge. But this time she takes a mild pleasure in watching him flail awake with a yelp and find himself looking into the eyes of The Shadow of Death. 

It’s fitting, she supposes, that her eyes are all that can be seen when she dons her hood and mask for a mission. The green eyes of her father. The one feature of hers that can be definitively tied to the man who trained her for violence. 

The Colonel breaks from his surprised stupor and reaches with his free arm for the gun propped on the other side of his bed. Kamaria whips a second knife out from her hip and drives it down into that arm, pulling a strangled cry from him.

Weakling.

“You murdered my people,” she murmurs, leaning down closer to him, her weight on the two knives still embedded in his arms. 

“Wh-...what?” he gasps, eyes wide. “What, what people? What are you talking about?”

She twists the knife in her right hand and he cries out again. “The Vaya of the forest. You led the raid on their village, back when you were still a Major.” She still doesn’t know who raided her own village, but she’s known this man’s name for three years and she’s been waiting for this day ever since. “You burned their houses and fields. You slaughtered them in their own homes. You killed women, children…” 

She’s starting to get caught up in her own memories, in flashes of fire and desperate screams. Days after she’d seen her own village destroyed in the same way, she and Arran and Madhis had been hiding in the forest and had smelled the smoke and heard the screaming from a distance. At first she thought she was having another nightmare. It turned out she was witnessing someone else’s.

“You helped to destroy an entire race, a peaceful race, and for what? Because your king demanded a tiny piece of land for himself?” She twists the knife again, eyes flashing. 

He chokes out a laugh, raising his head off the bed a little, attempting to get brave. “You’re saying you’re one of those uncivilized creatures?”

Gritting her teeth, she yanks one knife out, allowing blood to begin flowing freely, and places the tip at his throat, instead. “Whatever it was for, whatever you thought you were going to get out of it…you were wrong. You don’t get to live to see the end of the war.”

“It’s an honor to die serving my king.”

“Dying on the battlefield, perhaps. Dying in bed, not even dressed properly, writhing pitifully under the hands of a Vaya woman? Not so honorable.”

As soon as she moves the knife from his throat he tries to make a grab for her, but she doesn’t give him the chance. The blade slips back into his flesh, this time just underneath his ribs. He screams, and she waits until he’s done to pull it back out. To his credit, he does attempt once again to lunge for her despite the injuries, but she just slices at his hand and plunges the knife into his thigh. 

“I am going to make sure you die, but I am also going to make sure you have plenty of time to think about what you’ve done while you die.” She had so many other things she wanted to do to him, to make him hurt. She wants to set his tent on fire, give him a taste of his own medicine. She wants to set this whole compound on fire. But that would result in punishment for herself, and her stupid brain would paralyze her if she was near a fire of that magnitude, anyway. 

She could still make him hurt more, though. But to be honest, now that she’s here, she finds she doesn’t really have the stomach for it. Killing is one thing. She was desensitized to that a long time ago, when she was still a teenager. But torture? She’s on the receiving end of it far too much to find pleasure in doling it out. Her goal now is exactly what she said - make sure he takes some time to bleed out, but can’t be saved if someone finds him before he succumbs. 

Removing both knives with a jerk, she thinks of the screams echoing through the trees, of the orange glow that lit the night sky, and stabs him one more time, in the stomach. Then she calmly wipes both blades onto his sheet and replaces them in their holsters. 

He’s either in too much pain or already losing too much blood to even look at her, much less make any more snide comments. She stares down at him for a long moment.

“Goodbye, Colonel. Polind na terreva ti suptor si na pletaja qe ti syo.”

The Shadow of Death turns and walks out of the tent. 

Later, when she sleeps, she dreams of fire.

.

.

Vaya interpretation - "May the Earth see you as the blight that you are." It's a Vaya curse that essentially means, "I hope you don't rest in peace."

[whumperofworlds]

"Can I help you, Whumpee?"

*holds up a drink* "This is poison, Whumper! Please drink it!"

"...My, this is certainly an honest assassination attempt, Whumpee..."

[defire]

Melee whump: bounty hunters, soldiers, assassins, living weapons...

(prisoner of war vibes)

Soldier whumpee is the best at their job because they can take so much punishment and still get up and finish the job, or at least escape

Regenerating whumpee who scouts out situations. Including things like minefields and "abandoned" areas where they might get blasted to pieces, but they'll live, so who cares?

Assassin whumpee gets captured by the enemy and then tortured until they agree to work for them

A neutral bounty hunter who is employed for their intelligence. Except then they get captured and forced to work for a rival group, and the first group that hired them thinks they sold out. Cue big beef.

Falling on the battlefield and surrounded by enemies. Shaking with panic as they try to play dead--the terror of being crushed underfoot by armored horses or run through to finish them off.

Whumpee getting lost and accidentally wandering across lines into enemy territory. Enemy assumes they're a spy.

Bonus if after interrogating them and failing to get evidence, they make whumpee work for them since he's clearly great at holding his tongue.

Living weapon chased by a whumper that's their ally/commanding officer and running to the enemy instead because THEY'RE LESS SCARY (i did this in Ghost of Seattle and it was so fun)

Whumpee, completely uninvolved and innocent, is related to an important gang member or military officer. The enemy captures and tortures them to hurt their relative.

[delicatewhumps]

dark academia x whump

poison. idk, something about poison just screams dark academia. especially poisoned wine or poisoned coffee

people locked in a library and trying to kill each other

whumpee is a student overworking themselves to the point of sickness; someone nurses them back to health

old medical textbooks— caretaker frantically studying anatomy diagrams, trying to figure out how to save whumpee as whumpee lies sick or injured or dying

a bookshelf falling down and crushing someone

assassins. idk. people in elegant black suits, paid to kill. that can be really dark academia if you play your cards right

chess game between whumper and whumpee. every time whumpee’s piece gets captured, whumper breaks one of their bones. alternatively, the game is between whumper and caretaker— same rules. caretaker has to play perfectly or else risk losing whumpee

[whump-galaxy]

do you have any ideas for a whumpee and whumper who love each other, even with all of the hurt? (not to make it sound like it’s a good thing either)

Sure! I’m not sure if you’re specifically looking for romantic or platonic, so each can be used either way.

-There’s the obvious with mind control, an unwilling whumper hurting their best friend.

-in a similar vein, there’s monster transformations, like a werewolf-side that makes them “lose themselves” and attack out of fear or hunger.

-Then there’s traitor/assassin/etc. falling in love with their quarry.

-then there’s Stockholm syndrome

That’s just a few scenarios, but for actual prompts:

-The two getting into life or death battles regularly, somewhat for the hell of it, and somewhat to see if the other will actually finish them off this time.

-Matching scars.

-Underhanded comments at each other that only the two would understand.

-Trying to keep each other safe even when they want to tear each other apart.

-Only having each other for a long time, so they become so dependent on each other, yet disdainful of everything the other does.

-Not wanting to let the other “win”. Always having to fight over the last word.

[3-2-whump]

Mistaken Accusation

<prev next>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up!”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click.

Nothing happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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