#comfy-whumpee

[ashintheairlikesnow]

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

-

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one. 

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him. 

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her. 

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily. 

That’s okay. 

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did. 

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better. 

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax. 

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it. 

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head. 

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble. 

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing. 

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own. 

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband. 

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to. 

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there. 

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed. 

She doesn’t always roll well. 

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back. 

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch. 

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them. 

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue. 

No, wait. 

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word. 

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse. 

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.” 

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.” 

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump. 

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.” 

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke. 

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply. 

She can't help herself. 

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear. 

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath. 

“Savvie,” he whispers. 

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

 She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips. 

Her blood. 

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?” 

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.” 

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her. 

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step. 

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch. 

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion. 

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall. 

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.” 

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie. 

-

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

[lektricwhump]

LOCAL THEMBO found INNOCENT of ALL CRIMES

they've never seen a crimes in their life :pleading_face:

[spinzolliii]

If you’re ever bored, just create your ideal whump room in Animal Crossing, Minecraft, The Sims, or anywhere that you can design a room. Bonus points if you can draw it.

Here’s some ideas:

A ridiculously comfy bed/couch/whatever with heavy blankets, cushy pillows, and maybe stuffed animals

Low, comfortable lighting

A trash bin or bucket within reach

A tissue box, possibly surrounded by crumpled tissues

Tea, hot chocolate, soup, broth, water, etc.. Maybe a tray to hold them

Bottles or blister packs of medicine

Cold compress and/or hot water bottle. Maybe just a rag hanging out if a bowl of ice water

First aid kit, fresh gauze/bandages/antiseptics

A chair for Caretaker

A fireplace, stove, heater, or fan

A window that’s either frosted over or being pelted with icy rain

Books, radio, other entertainment

A cabin or small cottage

Please give me your ideas

[chiharuuu22]

Whumpee and Caretaker sat side by side in front of the fireplace. Whumpee leaned his body against Caretaker's body and rested his head on Caretaker's shoulder. Occasionally, you could hear Whumpee coughing.

Caretaker, who sat beside him, embraced him from behind. Caretaker's hands stroked Whumpee's head, shoulders, and back, trying to provide comfort. Caretaker's hand holds a glass filled with warm milk, which Whumpee occasionally drinks.

They were both clad in pajamas, with blankets covering their shoulders and backs. Whumpee wears socks, and Caretaker leaves the soles of feet exposed.

Whumpee looked at Caretaker from his spot, and Caretaker just smiled back. Whumpee smiled back and closed his eyes. He had gone home. He's home now.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

At the test track, is it just Sahota and the interrogator? He has nothing to do between torture sessions? no one to actually talk to??

Isn't solitary basically a war crime? I know it's been studied in irl prisoners and even a relatively short time will majorly fuck a person up on a deep level (ignoring the fact Sahota is already majorly fucked on a deep level)

My point is, if this is really supposed to be a fucked up pursuit of science, surely the time in-between experiments on how an individual succumbs to torture, should not also be a well-established torture in and of itself.

Give that mans a stim toy. Give him a pumpkin full of meat to roll around his enclosure. Give him a call home (to Vic)

I just feel he needs a *crumb* of comfort, for science.

pumpkin full of meat for the lad 😭😭

And yep! Solitary is at least war crime-adjacent as far as I'm aware, and just a generally shitty thing for someone to go through

While the interrogator initially wanted Sahota for the sake of testing out new ideas, his stoicism and minimalist answers irritated them, so they've gotten a little petty. At this point, they just want to see him break down. (But hey, it's for science! They're documenting the process so they can use it step-by-step on someone else if needed :) )

[echo-goes-mmm]

We don't have enough vampire caretakers in whump

Think of the possibilities! Sure they may or may not feed off of whumpee, but that's a very small price to pay for safety in a thoroughly hurt whumpee's mind

Vampire Caretakers can tell with a taste or even smell that whumpee needs more calcium or iron in their diet

Vampire Caretakers can use their Charm ability to help soothe whumpee

Vampire Caretakers who have all the time in the world with many resources to make whumpee as comfortable as possible

Vampire Caretakers that no whumper would Dare cross bc Caretaker could CRUSH them

Vampire caretakers Will Kill for their whumpee and god help Whumper when Vampire Caretaker gets ahold of them

Idk I wanna see a person capable of great harm being the kindest, gentlest person in a whumpees life

And maybe Vampire Caretaker has been lonely for far too long and now? A Friend! And they Will Love and Cherish their new companion damnit

[pixelatedraindrops]

what happened after they got better <3

i love when people draw 2 characters cuddling and it looks like this

[whump-on-a-string]

I'm so weak for soft/comfort whump with childlike whumpees. My traumatized ass brain loves that shit.

Whump where whumpee is drugged/hypnotized/brainwashed by whumper to be easier to handle and work with, but also to keep them like their new pet or kid to take care of. Maybe carewhumper. Whumpee can be comfy and have lil toys and treats when they're behaving and be a good bean & not worry about normal adult life shit.

Slightly potentially fucked up/soft escapist comfort whump. o|-<

Like pet whump but in a more "human respectful" soft flavor.

[all-the-gory-details]

Vampire Whumpee P.2

P1 P3 P4

TW: Burning, captivity, sadistic whumper, nailed to a tree, gagged, restrained, dehumanization

The walk back to the hunters' camp felt like it took days. Whumpee's ankle was on fire, nerves refusing to die as their body tried to heal.

It wouldn't heal, not with the silver still clamping onto their bone. They tried to be thankful that their bones were immune to the burning agony, but it was hard when every step brought tears to their eyes.

They managed to make it to the camp with only a few stumbles, only a few shallow scrapes that were already healing. The sight of the clearing ahead brought a sense of relief.

Finally, no more walking.

The relief fled when they felt a hand in their hair, yanking their head back once more. "How about we get you nice and comfy, leech? Gotta make sure you won't be making any escape attempts when we're all asleep."

Whumpee whimpered, wanting so badly to beg for some form of mercy. But the sound only made the hunter grin, tightening his grip. "I think I have just the thing."

Suddenly, they felt the ropes around their wrists being cut, and their hands immediately went to the gag. If they could get just a few words in, they could make them understand.

The hunter grabbed their wrists tightly. "Oh no you don't," he growled. "I've got plans for these. Oi, someone get me one of those nails."

Whumpee's heart sank. They started pulling against the hunter frantically, trying to get away, away, away-

The hunter spun them around and slammed their back into a nearby tree, forcing all the air out of them. For a few moments, they just floundered, struggling to breathe, to see straight.

Then, they caught sight of a hammer, and the grin worn by its bearer.

Aaaand they were thrashing again.

"I'll hold its hands," said the hunter pushing them against the tree. "Make sure you get in between the bones, don't want it to rip its wrists in two."

Whumpee was sobbing, shaking their head as their hands were pushed up against the wood. The one with the hammer pulled a single nail out of their pocket, a long one with a wide head.

And then the point was resting on their pinned wrists, stacked on top of each other on that cursed tree, and they were crying, shaking, screaming, bleeding-

It went through their wrists easily, like a knife through butter. The tree was tougher. It took a few hits before the nail was deep enough to trap them like a pinned bug.

The hunter who had held them still was grinning as he pulled down lightly on their arm. "There you go, bloodsucker," he murmured, grabbing their chin and forcing their gaze upwards, forcing them to look him in his cruel, delighted eyes.

"Trapped and tamed. Just what monsters like you deserve."

Next part

Thank you to @scoundrelwithboba who requested a second part! Hope you like it!

[whump-place]

Pet Whumpee that just doesn't understand when Caretaker tries to help them, or anything at all, but that despite everything they want to make their new Master happy, even if they start to think they don't know how to treat a Pet in the first place.

"Here, I don't have a spare bed for you, but we can share! Or I'll just go to sleep on the couch, it's not big deal"

Oh, so Master can't afford a bed for their Pet. It's okay. Whumpee won't make things difficult, maybe their Master wants them to be like a lap dog, Whumpee can do that for Master!

"Did you like the broth? I think there's also pasta in the fridge, I can heat it up in the microwave if you are still hungry, Whumpee"

Master can't even afford proper Pet food... It's okay! Whumpee can eat anything Master gives them, they won't complain, there's no reason to remind Master of their lack of money. They can be good, they won't be ungrateful.

But, sometimes, even if they don't say it out loud, Whumpee wishes they could sleep on a comfy dog bed, just like in the shelter.

Or maybe eat that pet kiddle that's at the supermarket when they go shopping with Master.

But that's okay. They won't say a word. They can be good for their Caretaker Master.

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 8

Bonus prompt- Whumpee wearing Caretaker's clothes

Demihuman Whumpee (canine), past capture, institutionalized/legal slavery of demihumans, lady whump mentioned, physical abuse mentioned, mostly just fluff though :D

°

Caretaker sat alone in their living room, sipping on some stew they had made earlier. They heard Whumpee's scufflings in the next room, but left them to their own devices.

Whumpee was... odd, to say the least. They were just beginning to learn which of their old owner's "rules" that they were allowed to break. The demihuman tested boundaries carefully, like they were nervous for a punishment if they sat on any furniture.

Once they learned they were allowed to sit where they liked, however, they took up a habit of napping on the coffee table. Caretaker would never reprimand them for this, though. The more freedom Whumpee felt, the happier they seemed.

The poor thing's old owner was a cruel excuse for a woman. She never let Whumpee wear clothes past a pair of boxers, she made them act like an animal for her, and even went as far as to whip them if they weren't to her precise standard. Whumpee was a kind of dog-human hybrid, yes, but nobody deserved to be treated that way. Caretaker wouldn't even treat a dog like that!

Caretaker stamped out any thoughts of her— they hated to dwell on things, especially Whumper.

Caretaker noticed that Whumpee had gone silent. They quickly got to their feet and started towards the bedroom. "Whumpee?" they called.

When Caretaker opened the door, Whumpee was scrambling to hide, choosing to duck behind the bed.

"Whumpee? Love, you can come out. It's okay," Caretaker said calmly, stepping into the room. "Can you tell me why you're hiding? Are you doing something you think you aren't supposed to?"

Whumpee let out an ashamed whine and was still for a moment. Suddenly, they leaped up onto the bed where Caretaker could see them.

The demihuman was looking away in shame, and their ears drooped pathetically. They were dressed in a big white sweater that was entirely too big and a pair of shorts that they were struggling to hold up. Whumpee ducked their head. "I– I didn't know you were coming in... I'm sorry, I'll take them off–"

They were cut off as Caretaker tackled them in a hug, squeezing them closer. "Whumpee," they exclaimed, "you're wearing clothes! I'm so proud of you, love!" Caretaker ruffled Whumpee's hair encouragingly.

Whumpee, taken aback, hugged Caretaker. "I'm... allowed to?"

"Yes, yes! Of course, love. Though... we should probably get you some clothes that fit you a little better."

Whumpee nodded, sinking their head into Caretaker's chest. "Thank you... these are so comfy..."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

-

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break. 

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring. 

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!” 

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so. 

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.” 

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. 

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb. 

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?” 

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share. 

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly. 

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has. 

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.  

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does. 

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe. 

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates. 

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in. 

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault? 

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow. 

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down? 

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one. 

More than a drink, they need  about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time. 

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do. 

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow. 

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch. 

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all. 

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.  

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would. 

They would never ask. 

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly. 

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do. 

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough. 

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them. 

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again. 

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key. 

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep. 

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't. 

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time. 

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep. 

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with. 

They know the feeling. 

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in. 

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile. 

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.” 

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled… 

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure. 

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more. 

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down. 

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore. 

So they nod again. “And it worked?” 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.” 

Half the time. 

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in. 

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or… 

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.” 

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate. 

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.” 

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile. 

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough. 

It just hadn't been enough. 

It has to be enough this time. 

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.” 

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?” 

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened. 

They just need to prove it. 

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again. 

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be. 

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him. 

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in. 

They have so much. 

It has to be enough. 

[mj-iza-writer]

I wrote a story like this on Pinterest in the comments a while ago. I forget the prompt I used and who had posted it. I did an abridged version on their because you can only write so many characters in the comment section. Please enjoy. -MJ

Whumpee had almost fully recovered from their time with Whumper.

Caretaker spared no expense on Whumpee's care. Of course, money wasn't an issue for Caretaker either. The aristocrat had enough to spare.

Though Caretaker had promised several times, Whumpee was certain they were just a project for Caretaker. Something like a charity case for Caretaker to take care of until they were bored or to melt the hearts of the public so Caretaker was seen as a good person.

Whumpee understands this. They were just another penniless social outcast. They didn't belong amongst Caretaker's friends.

They heard the whispers of those social elites.

The party had only just begun, Whumpee stayed close by Caretaker. That was the plan at least.

"This party is for you, Whumpee", Caretaker smiled, "in celebration of your progress in recovery. You don't need to stay by me all night."

"Could I please stay with you?", Whumpee frowned, "you know I'm clumsy. I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends."

"Anyone who finds you embarrassing are not friends of mine, but yes, you may stay with me if you wish."

Whumpee awkwardly followed Caretaker as they mingled amongst the company.

"Are you feeling parched at all?", Caretaker turned to Whumpee, "I'll go get you some punch. Wait here please."

Caretaker stepped away.

Whumpee watched timidly from the side. Of course they watched Caretaker get side tracked with another guest.

"May I have this dance", an all to familiar voice came up beside Whumpee.

Whumpee gulped as they turned.

They hoped a guard or Caretaker saw what was happening.

"Don't make a scene", the person grinned, "I only want you aware that I am still close. You can't get away from me that easily. You are not as safe as you thought."

"Why.... Whumper?", Whumpee's lip quivered.

"No water works", Whumper gently reached for Whumpee's hand and led them to the dance floor.

They awkwardly danced for a few moments before Whumper leaned in.

"Remember this. All of this is just a phase in your life. I will have you again, and you will not be so easily removed from my hands", Whumper whispered.

A guard sounded an alert signal.

Whumper quickly kissed Whumpee's cheek before running off and mixing into the alarmed guest.

"Find them... find them now", Caretaker quickly ran to Whumpee's side as they yelled at the guards, "I want to know how they got in, and how they were allowed so close to Whumpee for so long."

Whumpee's knees buckled. They fell to the floor. Fear and shock etched across their face.

"Whumpee... Whumpee?", Caretaker quickly knelt and embraced them in a hug, then quickly checked them over, "d-did they hurt you?"

A guard came up, "Caretaker I apologize. The subject left the building, guards have confirmed they have escaped. We already have police looking for them. They have license plate and vehicle descriptions."

"How the heck did they get in?", Caretaker didn't turn their attention from Whumpee, "someone's going to be fired if they don't give me a straight answer."

"We are looking right now Caretaker. We will let you know when we find it", the guard frowned.

"The party is over, I need to attend to Whumpee", Caretaker frowned as they felt Whumpee shake, "I know they escaped. Still check everyone as they leave."

Caretaker made a few announcements to their guest to explain the situation.

A guard assisted Whumpee to a separate room and remained with them until Caretaker came in.

Whumpee was quickly changed into warm comfy pajamas.

They cuddled into a blanket and listened to Caretaker and the guards communicate.

They played back the video and found how Whumper had gotten in.

A door was left unattended, and a few guards and staff had gotten sidetracked with a mess Whumper had caused. That's how they got so close.

Whumpee was still fairly shaken up at this. They stared off at nothing. A blank expression on their face.

"Whumpee, how are you doing?", Caretaker gently stroked their arm.

Whumpee blinked out of their dissociation and turned to Caretaker.

"I'm sorry... what was that?", Whumpee looked down.

"I just wanted to know if you were okay", Caretaker sighed, "I am so sorry."

"I-I'm okay", Whumpee weakly smiled.

"Right", Caretaker stated not believing that at all.

"Did they say anything to you?", the lead guard spoke up.

Whumpee nodded and told them what Whumper had said.

"We need to tighten security. At least until Whumper is stopped. We won't rest until Whumper is behind bars", Caretaker watched Whumpee stare off into space again, "Whumpee needs to be protected."

The guards agreed and went off to secure the location, and start working on the security.

Caretaker returned carrying two cups of hot chocolate.

Whumpee turned to them and took the cup.

"Thankyou", Whumpee whispered.

"You're welcome. Be careful it's hot", Caretaker sat down, "now that it's just us, I want you to really tell me how you are feeling."

Whumpee looked down and allowed some tears to come out. They had held them in too long

"Scared", Whumpee whispered, "terrified."

Caretaker nodded, "I am truly sorry. This should have never happened. If I hadn't of left you by yourself or had a guard stay with you. Had a butler get you a drink. There are so many things that could have been done differently to protect you. You shouldn't have been left alone, even if it was just with my friends. You never know what someone's true intentions are", Caretaker sighed.

Whumpee frowned, "you didn't know... no one knew. It even took me by surprise since they haven't shown themselves at all since you took me in. To know they've been watching this whole time", Whumpee shook their head at the thought of how close Whumper had been.

Caretaker nodded, "I know. We are working on finding them. For right now, a guard will be with you at all times. If it's okay with you, I want you to be closely monitored until this mess is sorted."

Whumpee nodded.

"Whumpee I promise. We will get this taken care of. You will be kept safe here", Caretaker almost pleaded that promise.

"I believe you Caretaker", Whumpee nodded, "thankyou."

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

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @clevah-girlboss

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie

[a-living-canvas]

I love your account so much! I’m constantly checking for updates or new stories. On that note, could you, when you have some time, write a sequal to Carmel Curls? The whumperflies from that story!

I'm glad you like my writings! I hope you enjoy this too! <333

Part 1

Caramel Curls II

"There, done."

Whumper grinned sweetly at Whumpee. He lifted them off from the changing table and put them back in the crib. Whumpee's face was stained with tears of humiliation. They couldn't do much when Whumper put the diaper on them. 

And now they were in a cute blue pyjama, with bear patterns all over it. They peered down, noticing the bump from the diaper on their pants. They felt more mortified when Whumper patted right on that spot, looking down at them with a smirk.

"Comfy now~? Baby~?"

Whumpee gritted their teeth, glaring at Whumper as they felt tears welling up in their eyes again. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Let me go! You creep!"

"Aww…don't be like that. What makes my precious baby upset, hm?"

"YOU!"

Whumper chuckled, he took the teddy bear and placed it on Whumpee's chest. "Mr. Teddy wants to help you cheer up a bit."

Whumpee frowned, looking down at the stupid smile on the teddy's face as Whumper guided their tied hands to wrap around it. Now, I'm hugging it. Good.

"Get this away from my face."

Whumper ignored them, adjusting the pillow around Whumpee to make them feel more comfortable. He pulled back slightly, noticing something off about them. 

"Ah! I forgot about the ribbons…"

"Ribbons?"

Whumper walked across the room and tugged open the drawer as he took the ribbons and returned to Whumpee. He made cute little bows on the rope around Whumpee's wrists and ankles while humming softly.

"My baby looks so adorable like this…"

Whumpee sighed in frustration, "Do you think doing that would make me feel better?"

Whumper raised an eyebrow, "Who said I do that to make you feel better? It's for me."

Whumper put his hand on the bump again and Whumpee tensed up. "Get away from me!" They raised their knees to their chests but then Whumper grabbed their ankles and held it in his grip instead.

"Daddy just wants to check on you. "

Pat Pat Pat

"Hmm…is it full yet?"

Whumpee rolled their eyes. "Obviously, no. Now stop touching me!"

"But you said you need to go to the restroom earlier."

Whumpee looked at Whumper in disbelief. "I won't pee in this."

"Why not?" Whumper grabbed the bag of diapers, examining the label on the packaging. "It said here the tremendous absorption capacity up to half a day or 12 hours. And oh! The waistband prevents the formation of red marks on the baby's skin. Aww! It protects your little bum!"

Someone, please, let me out of here.

"I don't care about that! Are you nuts?!"

"Oh, certainly not, dear. But you, holding back your pee isn't very healthy you know?"

Whumper leaned down, and without a warning, rubbing his thumb in circle across Whumpee's lower belly. Whumpee flinched, feeling the urge to urinate coming back again. 

"Come on, let it flow~" Whumper taunted, chuckling sadistically as he watched Whumpee's face change to a look of despair. They both knew Whumpee needed to release it sooner or later.

"Stop…stop!"

Whumpee closed their eyes tightly, the sensation overwhelming them as Whumper played with their belly button, increasing the stimulation. "Just let it go. You would feel better, you know?"

Whumper kept rubbing their lower stomach and belly button, smiling softly as he watched Whumpee slowly crumble. Their faces were red, and they looked like a baby who suffered from constipation. 

"If you behave, I will let you sleep for a while and then we can get you ice cream."

"...Ice cream…?"

"Mhm."

Whumper smiled in satisfaction as he saw Whumpee stopped struggling. Their muscles loosened up and a look of relief could be seen on their faces. He stood straight up again, crossing his arms as he watched the diaper slowly filling up. 

"Good baby. Finally listening to your daddy, hm?

After changing the diaper again, Whumpee slept peacefully in their cribs. They weren't fighting anymore. They were just so tired. And the image of a strawberry ice cream made them feel excited for some reason. Just like a kid would.

"Shh…sleep my little baby. Daddy will protect you."

Yeah..Whumper would protect them right? They were just his little baby. They were supposed to be in his arms.

And in that moment Whumpee couldn't help but feel so…safe.

~

Part 3

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @htavin87 @heyyitsworld @risk606

[mightaswell-whump]

Thinking about a whumpee used as nothing more than a bedwarmer. Not a human. Just something to make sure the sleeper is suitably comfy

[whumpwillow]

Demon's Haven 17

they are so so comfy

—  

masterlist

warnings: past torture, blood, whumpee wondering when caretaker will hurt him, self-worth issues

—  

“Just focus on getting better. Okay? That’s how you can help.”

Envy didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know when the witch would stop pretending to care about him. Even if she was willing to take in a random demon—an already foolish move for any witch or human alike—she couldn’t possibly be alright with the idea of taking care of a demon prince. He and his brothers had a…reputation.

He wondered when she would stop being nice to him. When it finally caught up to her that he was cruel and evil and beyond saving. That he wasn’t worth her time except to cause him pain and show him just how wrong he had been.

He knew that’s what he deserved, but he selfishly wanted to enjoy her kindness while it lasted, however long that was.

Haven helped Envy back onto the bed, which involved him not standing and instead flopping onto the mattress as if he were climbing into a boat and then floundering embarrassingly. He felt his cheeks grow hotter by the second. The witch guided him onto his back and he was grateful to relieve the pressure on his ribs. She put a hand on his head and lowered him until he was resting on a pillow, then picked up a few more off the floor. She smacked the pillows with her hand a few times to fluff them, then placed them on the bed as well, Envy sandwiched in the middle. He could hardly remember the feeling of such luxury, even when he had lived his whole life immersed in it up until the angel took him. It felt foreign to him now.

“Good night…Your Highness,” she said.

She added the title as an afterthought. He hadn’t heard it in years—his subjects had simply used “My Lord” and his brothers, well, nothing at all.

“Envy is fine.”

Haven smiled. “Good. I’m not even sure how to do a curtsy.”

He smiled at that, and for some reason, his fear dissipated. That was, until he realized he was lying in her bed and she was clearly not.

“Oh!” he exclaimed.

Envy threw the blankets off himself and was about to try another disastrous climb off the bed when Haven stopped him. She put a hand on his shoulder—the less bruised one—and gently pushed him down until he was once again nestled among the pillows.

“No, no, please, just stay there,” she said, a bit exasperated.

He looked up at her helplessly. “I can’t just take your bed from you.”

Haven crossed her arms over her chest and erected her most put-upon expression. “You can and you will. Now go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

It was all he could say before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 …

Envy woke not knowing where he was.

It wasn’t the cell. The cell was dark and cold, made of stone, and it certainly didn’t have a bed. It smelled of iron and copper and stinging silver, not the fresh and comforting scent of chamomile and lavender. Envy lie buried in soft sheets among various blankets and pillows—not the silken quality he’d been used to at his House, but which was still leagues better than waking up in chains with blood streaming down his back from the previous night’s whipping.

He wasn’t in his cell. He wasn’t back at his House. And he wasn’t in chains.

He processed this information for the few seconds it took him to remember what had happened last night and over the past few days. The memories resurfaced blurry in his mind, a haze of activity after so long spent in nothingness. He’d been summoned at the best possible moment and subsequently spent three fearful days and nights in a summoning circle before making a soulbond with a witch.

Haven.

She saved him. She could have sent him back—and really, it would have been the logical choice. Who in their right mind would make a soulbond with a demon just because he begged for it? The angel certainly hadn’t ever cared when he begged for anything, though it didn’t stop him from trying.

She’d cut herself. Spilled her own blood into his just to save him from his personal torment. Helped him stand. Supported him on that dreadful walk through the city where he felt he might collapse into nothing but a pile of bones at any moment. She’d taken him inside her home, tended to his wounds, cleaned him, comforted him…

And now he awoke in her bed.

Envy hiccupped. A sob rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest—still wrapped in bandages. The place he awoke in was a mess, but it was a lived-in sort of chaos. Not one that he was familiar with. Sunlight streamed in through gauzy curtains half-drawn over dusty windows. Plants grew from a box just outside it, and more rested in pots on the sill. Some hung from baskets attached to the ceiling with thick rope tied into mesh holders. Books lined the shelves. Clothes littered the floor.

Haven, the witch herself, had curled up in a chair that resembled a giant nest. The cushion it held was just a circle set into a wooden frame, and Haven had surrounded herself in it with blankets made of patchwork cloth scraps of all different colors sewn together.

It wasn’t a dream. It took a few moments for this thought to settle in, for Envy to realize that he was really, truly, out. He was safe, if only for the moment. It felt strange to him after so long spent in darkness, wishing for some kind of reprieve, anything, anything. He almost couldn’t believe it was real.

Haven had been so kind to him. More than he deserved.

Then he remembered what he’d told her. His name—and all that came with it. His identity, his past, his wickedness. He remembered the fear on her face, the way she’d jumped from the bed and backed away, the way her eyes scanned the room as if to search for a weapon. He had no illusions that she wouldn’t hurt him if he gave her aim to, so he was determined not to give her any reason. He’d make himself as nonthreatening as possible. Take up as little space in her cluttered home. He’d live like a ghost, if that was her wish.

He sat, still and motionless, until Haven awoke. He didn’t want to disturb her accidentally, for he’d already caused enough problems already and didn’t want to test how far her patience could extend before it snapped. He wondered vaguely what it would take, how far he could push until she hurt him like the angel had. What he would need to do to be punished.

He swallowed the thought. It lingered inside him, thick and heady like molasses.

He held himself still, arms wrapped around his legs drawn up to his chest. Moving through the sheets made noise, however slight, and he didn’t want to wake the very person who had given up her own bed for him to sleep in. It wasn’t bad. The morning was rather pleasant. He was clean, and not in chains, and not in pain. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed in ages so he wasn’t used to the softness and spent a few minutes just admiring the sensation. He let his eyes close and tilted his head back, feeling the warm sun on his face, sighing.

“Envy?”

He jolted. The movement sent a pillow to the floor, causing him to wince. All at once, whatever peace he had managed to gain in the previous moment had fled him during this one.

Haven shifted in her nest-chair and let out a small groan. She reached her arms up above her head and stretched, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Envy waited patiently, unmoving. The witch squinted at her resting place, momentarily confused like she didn’t know how she’d gotten there.

Haven sat up in her nest chair, a variety of multicolored pillows falling to the floor around her. A blanket slid off her shoulders to pool around her hips. She still had on the same dress from yesterday.

“I—” Envy began in a weak voice.

“You’re awake.”

He nodded.

Haven stretched again, then glided out of the nest-chair amid a tumble of pillows and blankets. She padded over to the bed, and Envy willed himself not to flinch. All she did was pick up the fallen pillow and set it back at the head of the bed.

“Sorry…” Envy began.

Haven held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did I wake you?” he asked tentatively.

Haven shook her head and smiled. She reached toward him and Envy ducked on instinct, thinking she was about to hit him, but she merely went to touch a bandage that had come loose at shoulder, but paused when she noticed his reaction. She gave him a sheepish look.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine.”

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Envy eyed her movements warily. He set his hands down on the bed, but kept his legs pressed against his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Haven asked.

Envy opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He needed to give her an answer, to not say anything would be rude, and even when he thought he could push her to hurt him, he didn’t want to, he just wanted an end to the pain. He was in so much pain.

It came back to him once he awoke, the effects of his wounds. The pleasurable feeling of being clean and sleeping on a soft mattress rather than a cold stone floor greatly lessened the effect, but the sensation was still there. The licks of the whip that cut into his back, burning fire in stripes down the skin that tore and rended the flesh. The holy water that had marked him, had turned his insides to molten gore. The weeping wounds, the dark bruises. The bone-deep exhaustion that still plagued him, no matter how much he slept.

“I—” Envy began.

He could tell her the truth. He was already pathetic enough as could be, falling all over the floor and weeping in her arms. But he could tell her he was alright, and save some face at least. It had nothing to do with him not wanting her to worry.

“I’m alright,” he lied.

“Hm,” Haven murmured.

Her eyes narrowed, like she didn’t believe him. Envy wondered when she’d gotten so good at reading him. He attributed it to his exhaustion—he was usually much better at this back in his own realm.

His old life.

Haven set a hand on the bed, an inch from his own. “You can tell me,” she said. “If you’re in pain. If you’re hurting. If you feel like you want to cry, or scream, or do whatever it is that would make you feel better.”

She looked up at him then, quick enough that it didn’t give him a single second to recover from her statement and he was caught in full view during the throes of his misery. His eyes had begun to well again with blasted tears and he cursed himself for it. He just couldn’t seem to stop.

Haven smiled gently. “I told you before. You needn’t soften your grief around me.”

A sob escaped him, one he had barely been holding back. Envy clenched his teeth, wishing it was enough to will some semblance of composure back into his expression, but the tears had already started pouring down his cheeks. Awful, wretched sounds came from deep within him, from a place he tried his hardest to bury.

“It hurts,” he whimpered.

Haven nodded, and drew him in close. Envy curled into her easily. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand on the bandages covering his back, and the other in his hair. She brought his head toward hers and their foreheads touched, and at once, all the thoughts in Envy’s mind that told him he was unworthy, were silent.

—

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