#contortion whump

[whump-card]

Ok I think with your style of drawing- how about whumper standing behind whumpee and grabbing their chin with their thumb pressed against their bottom lip- and add a knife being slipped into their open mouth?

😌I hope you enjoy....

Art taglist: @angst-after-dark, @whumpsday, @flowersarefreetherapy, @rainydaywhump, @softvampirewhump, @burnticedlatte, @whump-me, @honeybees-125

[hunterscabin]

Everything Goes Wrong

Summary: Dean is there to comfort his little sister after she suffers a fatal injury while hunting.

Pairings: Dean x Sister!Reader; Sam x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Angst; hurt/comfort; whump; death

Word Count: 1.3k 

Author’s Note: Requested from anonymous many moons ago. 

Dean. He was running toward you, screaming your name. You couldn’t comprehend his urgency; the leviathan were dead, the fight was over.

It all happened so quickly. You walked into a battle already underway. A small group of hunters also trailing the levis were first to arrive at the hideout, complicating an already dicey hunt. At the sight of their chaotic fighting, it became immediately clear that none of them had the tact or skill of a Winchester. Your brothers took action, causing two of the chompers to flee. Dean tossed one of the rookie hunters a sack of crude borax bombs and instructed them to capture the runaways. Sam crossed the warehouse, distracting one of the remaining leviathan. Dean took advantage of his brother’s diversion, driving the righteous, blood soaked bone he brandished deep into her skull.

On the other side of the abandoned stockroom, you were taking a beating from the last leviathan. He had been momentarily stunned by the bottle of borax you smashed over him, but his resiliency was remarkable. Almost immediately regaining his composure, he flung you into a pile of scrap metal. You scrambled to your feet, unsheathing your knife in the process. He made quick work of disarming you before effortlessly pinning you against a steel support beam. You winced, preparing for the worst, when suddenly, he retreated. Your eyes opened to find Sam impaling him with the bone several yards away.

High off the action, your entire body pulsed with energy. Or was it throbbing? Normally, the adrenaline of a hunt didn’t make you this… this… what was this feeling? You heard Dean shout your name again. Why did he sound so strange? A warmth spread across your stomach, and you looked down to find a mess of red. Blood? Your blood. Soaking your clothes and pooling at your feet. Bewilderment washed over you as your fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade. 

Just as Dean reached your side, your legs buckled. He braced your fall and carefully lowered you to the ground.

"Sammy!" Your eldest brother’s voice was gruff and full of urgency.

Consumed with killing the leviathan, Sam had been unaware of the commotion behind him. When he turned to see you bleeding in Dean’s arms, Sam shot up and sprinted toward you. He landed hard on his knees in front of Dean.

"Just the knife?" Sam’s eyes darted rapidly up and down your trembling form, trying to assess the damage.

Not wanting to speak the words, Dean nodded, his expression telling Sam the severity of your injuries.

“The car’s too far.” Dean thought aloud.

Sam wrestled with his next move. He didn’t want to leave you. He knew your chances of surviving were slim. He heard it in Dean’s tone. He saw it on your bloodstained clothes. Still, if there was even the slightest chance of saving you, he had to try.

“I’ll see if I can catch up with the other hunters.”

Both men knew it wouldn’t be enough, but it was the best Sam had to offer. Dean nodded reluctantly.

As your brothers’ muffled voices became more clear, so did your reality. The once dull pressure was now a searing pain. Your body screamed and your face contorted.

"Y/N, look at me.” Your eyes, wide with fear and confusion, found Sam’s. "You're gonna be okay. I’m going to get help.” 

Sam leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back, Y/N/N. I promise.”

Through a large, broken window, Dean watched Sam tear across the field and into the nearby woods. When he glanced back at you in his arms, your eyes were closed.

"Y/N, you gotta stay awake." Dean gently shook you until your gaze met his. "That's my girl."

"So tired, De." Your groggy voice begged for sleep.

"I know you are, kiddo, but I need you to keep your eyes on me.”

"Too hard,” you murmured, “Can’t do it."

"Yes you can, sweetheart." Dean was no longer able to mask his concern. "How can I help, Y/N/N? Tell me what to do."

Your brother’s desperation lifted the fog numbing your senses, and you clearly understood what you hadn’t before; you were dying. Anyone else would panic at this realization, beg their God for more time, cling to the last bit of life and fight. Not you. You woke every morning knowing this was a possibility. Saving people, hunting things; it was a dangerous road.

You weren’t bitter; no matter how menacing, your days were full of purpose, and that wasn’t something most people could say. You weren’t afraid; years of close calls had prepared you for this moment. You were, however, insurmountably saddened by the fact that Dean had to watch you die. You knew he would bear the weight of your absence completely despondent and guilt ridden. There was so much you wanted to say to ease his inevitable grief, but talking had grown increasingly difficult as words and breath eluded you. The most you could do was take the hand of solace Dean extended. You silently prayed that would be enough. 

"Tell me a story."

Dean smiled. Between your sleepy eyes and the way you were curled in his arms, it felt like you were little again.

“Have I ever told you about the day mom and dad brought you home from the hospital?”

You shook your head “No.”

“Sammy was not happy.” Dean gave a weak laugh remembering how ornery his brother had been. 

“He locked himself in his room. I tried to tell him that having a little sibling wasn’t all bad, but he wouldn’t listen. Dad had to take his door off the hinges to get him out.”

“He loves’me now.” you noted dreamily.

“He sure does.” Dean agreed, furrowing at your slurred speech. Another sign that your body was succumbing to its injuries. 

“That phase lasted less than an hour,” he continued. 

“Wha’happn’d?”

“He held you.” Dean’s voice was thick with nostalgia. “Mom convinced him. He sat in Dad’s chair, and she laid you in his lap. He wasn’t sure at first, but then you smiled.” 

Despite your pain, a contented grin eased across your face. 

“Just like that.” 

“D’d you hold me?”

Dean nodded. “You were so small, but I swear your eyes were as big and Y/E/C as they are now. I stared at you for hours. I never wanted to let you go.” I still don’t want to let you go. 

Dean paused to clear the sadness from his throat, but he was losing the battle against his emotions. He could see your eyes growing dim and feel your skin getting cold. You didn’t have much longer. 

“I love you so much, Y/N/N.” Dean’s words were short and breathless. 

“I love you too.” 

Dean pulled you closer and placed a warm hand on the side of your face. 

“De?” A small, crimson spot appeared at the corner of your mouth. “C’n I close m’eyes, now?"

At once, Dean felt everything and nothing. He knew the instant your eyes closed, he’d never see them again. He cursed himself for bringing you on such a risky hunt. He cursed himself for not keeping a better eye on you during the fight. He cursed Sam for still being gone. Not because he thought his younger brother would bring anything or anyone to save you, but because he knew how broken he’d be, returning to find his little sister asleep forever. He wanted to shake you, to scream, to do everything in his power to ensure your heavy lids didn’t fall, but he refrained. He knew this would be the last comfort he could ever give you. Dean surrendered to his heartache and let you slip from this world.

"Yeah, baby girl. You can rest now. I’ve got you.”

Masterlist

[whumpsoda]

Seeing Me in You - Unboxing

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee

——————

Ever so anxiously fearful, he had safely arrived to his new home. After so long of training and treatment, he had been prepared to perfection for his purpose. He was going to finally be put to use.

His trip to delivery had proved painful, even if he was used to dealing with common afflictions. Such a tight cage was unfavorable for his hulking frame, and the constant, numerous shakes and bumps of the truck formed noticeable bruises over his skin, and a sour throbbing in his head.

Thankfully, 374629 wasn’t meant to look presentable. Especially not pretty. He knew he wasn’t, having been utterly made sure of it. Not average looking, even, but he was never meant to be. He certainly was not a romantic, nothing anyone would purchase depending on his level of attraction.

Once set to the ground below his master’s doorstep, he made a point not to listen into the muffled conversation mushing together like cotton clouds above him. Reducing it to a buzz in the back of his mind, he kept his brain nice and blank. His belly still whirled in a mixture of terror and excitement to be inches away from his owner, and minutes from finally being introduced to them.

He could clearly hear as the employees transporting him finally left, leaving him alone with his owner. Leaving him to begin his new life.

374629 froze rigid as light began cracking and seeping into his crate, flooding his face with warmth and blinding brightness. On instinct his eyes shut and wound tight, body curling into itself further.

He hoped his master would be a good master. Didn’t everyone? Every master would be good of course, he had to be grateful to have any master at all. He was lucky. Maybe they would be just like his handlers in the facility. He couldn’t help but wish they were. As much as he was in no place to have preferences, he would have liked the familiarity.

But as his master ever so carefully opened his box, revealing more and more of his face, 374629 couldn’t help but on instinct catch a tiny look. And his master was frowning.

It was obvious he was attempting to hide it, lips curling up ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably so. The fake, half smile failed to meet his solemn, moistening eyes that glittered in the light. Not only was he obviously unhappy with his delivery, but his master was crying.

As 374629 turned back away, he could only hope it was his pet’s unsavory predicament that he found so foul.

Covered in his own grime, tears and sweat, boxers shriveled and dirty, his burly figure was contorted every which way inside of his box. His collar wasn’t even a nice leather, rather cheap and itching raw, red marks over his neck.

Maybe his master had never ordered a boxie before. Maybe he didn’t realize his pet would arrive so disheveled.

“S- sorry,” the man sniveled, wiping his eyes with clammy knuckles, “This is just… a lot. More so for you, of course.” 374629 could sense the slightest of a soft smile in his voice, pulsing warmth through his pet’s butterfly-filled belly. 

374629 didn’t know if he was meant to respond. He knew his rules well, repeating one specifically like a mantra in his mind. Do not speak unless spoken to, he told himself, over and over again like the handlers had. But he’d never had someone, let alone a person, apologize to him. Apologize! How could he possibly know what to do?

“Ye- yes, sir.” He squeaked out, meek and shaky. He winced, expecting a quick and burning shock to the throat for his misbehavior - hesitating and stuttering - but, while no longer wearing his training collar, such a punishment never came. 

Eyes peeking open once again, 374629 fixated his vision on the wood paneling of his crate. Pets are never allowed to look their master in the face, he told himself, both reminding him of the rules and silently chastising himself for having the urge to do so a second time. He hoped his owner had noticed his previous mistake of doing so, so that he could receive needed discipline for such unacceptable behavior.

“Hmmm… how about we get you up and out of your box, okay?” His master commanded, although spoken strangely. As if it wasn’t a command, rather a question, but 374629 knew very well that it was. Commands were one thing he was good at knowing. “Unless you feel more comfortable in there, then-,”

Before his master could continue, 374629 swiftly and clumsily stumbled from the confines of his box, plopping to his knees beside it. Again he fixed his gaze somewhere beside his master, this time the concrete floor of the hallway, as much as he wished he could look to the man for approval.

“Oh.” 

The pet tensed. Did he do something wrong? He failed to discern an emotion from his master’s lack thereof, causing his stomach to quease with uneasiness. 

“That’s okay. That’s good, yeah.” The pet could have sighed in relief. “Now, can I ask you a question?”

374629 tensed once again. Another question. He was so terribly confused. Why was his master asking him? Permission, even? It had to be a trick. A test, to see how well he’d been trained, an easy on at that. 

“A master does anything they so desire.” He neatly recited, a smile nearly tugging at his lips. 

He was being such a good boy. Back at training he would have received a quick and concise good by his handler, and the thought of praise, no matter how little and insignificant, could have him practically drooling.

For a moment, his master paused.

“I guess I should’ve expected that.” He whispered, more so to himself than his pet. His tone almost shone disappointment to his words, a realization that could have brought rich bile flooding his pet’s mouth. “I just wanna know, um, what’s your designation?”

He didn’t even need to think to formulate a reply. “WRU, facility 034, Guard Dog 374629.” He recited on the instant, words rolling off his tongue with perfected memorization. His designation was beat to memory, coming completely and entirely natural to him. In the whole interaction, that was one thing he was sure of.

He heard his master swallow, thick with saliva that danced down his throat. “Guard dog?”

“Yes, sir.” He responded, without falter, and utilizing his deep, low chords.

“Me too.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @3-2-whump @taterswhump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[serickswrites]

Hello again!! I was just wondering if you'd be willing to write some Hero whump with forced caretaking from the Villain??? Only if you want to!! Your writing is the best!

Hello, Anon! I can definitely write this for you! Please enjoy

Warnings: captivity, torture, barbed wire, blood, restraints, torture, infection, caretaking as a form of whump, unconsciousness

Villain smiled as they stared down at their victim. Hero was slumped over in the chair Villain had bound them to, blood flowing from their wrists and chest where Villain had wrapped them with barbed wire. Hero had passed out hours ago and hadn't woken yet.

"You are a delight to see," Villain purred as they lifted Hero's head to admire the cuts along Hero's jaw. "Ah!" Villain shouted as they dropped Hero's head. "You're burning up."

Villain tapped Hero's cheek. "Wake up," they ordered. But Hero didn't reply. "Fucking wake up."

Hero didn't wake.

"I said fucking wake up," Villain growled as they pressed on the largest cut on Hero's chest, pressing on the red, inflamed skin. Hero's face contorted with pain, but they didn't wake.

"Damn it," Villain said as they stopped trying to force Hero awake.

They knew what they had to do. Even though they didn't want to. They had to if they wanted to keep playing with Hero. "Don't say I never did anything for you," Villain muttered as they, with gloved hands, carefully unwound the barbed wire. Blood streamed down Hero's wrists and chest as Villain pulled the barbed wire free.

But still, Hero didn't wake.

Villain carefully lifted Hero in their arms. "You can't ever mention this to anyone," they said to the unconscious Hero.

Villain deposited Hero into the tub, turning the taps so that only lukewarm water would flow. "I'm just doing this because I want more time to hurt you. Don't get confused."

Hero didn't reply.

"Besides," Villain said as they watched the water rise, "this could be fun as well."

Hero's eyes flew open in time to see Villain push their head below the surface. "So much fun."

[redd956]

Little things in whump/Ideas: Nightmares

Oh boy! My specialty via experience, nightmare whump. Here's a lot of little things or whump ideas to play around with when it comes to whump with nightmares

Waking up panting and hyperventilating, the chest aching as it heaves up and down. The breath slowing and whumpee's shoulders relaxing as reality slowly hits them, until they're breaths shudder from their lips just out of fear

Clawing at their blankets and pillows, the fabric scrunching up

Whumpee kicking their legs first, and their arms waving around in their sleep far before they begin to thrash about

That where am I moment. Groggy eyes opening while whumpee has to take a moment to remember where they are

Feeling almost feverish, drenched in their sweat. Immediately once they wake they all sweat begins to cool, feeling almost like ice against their skin. That cold sweat.

Refusing to let anyone room or sleep with them, out of embarrassment or worry for if they have a nightmare

Caretaker waking whumpee, only for a frightened whumpee to latch onto them with hate and fear in their eyes. Caretaker is left to watch the fleeting glare turn into a softened sad look.

Falling off of the bed

Whumpee's partner feeling them shudder in their sleep

Viewing whumper as their sleep paralysis demon

Waking, adrenaline already pumping through the veins, fear flittering around in their chest. Then it hits them. Like a heavy weight, their limbs only seem to twitch before all the feeling of movement flees. The only sign of their growing fear is in their wide open eyes as sleep paralysis kicks in

A stifled cry, caretaker having to lean in just to see if whumpee is doing that while awake or asleep

The blankets and sheets always smelling like sweat from repeated cold sweat wakings

Seeing a lost friend in their dreams, and waking up with a crushing bittersweet feeling turning into a mournful yearn

Noticing hours after enjoying their breakfast that they've scratched themselves

Distant cries and yelps heard from across the house, Caretaker walking in to see whumpee's eyes still shut, but their face contorted with distress

Waking 👏 up 👏 screaming 👏 (bonus points: whumpee is overwhelmed by embarrassment from doing so)

Bonus:

The ultimate panic wake

Drenched in cold sweat, just managed to escape the claws of sleep paralysis, screaming and flailing at their surroundings for a moment before-

They plop back down, red in the face from embarrassment, pretending that no one, not even a godly entity, saw that

[seven-meds]

Have you seen Joker: Folie à Deux yet? If so, what are your thoughts?

Spoilers, obviously.

It was tonally and philosophically very similar to the first. And I suppose I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm part of the closest thing to a "target audience" that it has. Personally, I would have felt spat on and kicked like a dog had it depicted a charismatic criminal duo leading a revolution. My displeasure at the concept of a sequel centered around my belief that it would abandon its nihilistic, antagonistic perspective to give the average fan something they can easily get elsewhere. It's a belittling, hateful couple of films, which is what interests me. Whether they're good or bad is irrelevant. Whether they respect me as a person is even more irrelevant because I am not meeting them where they are at.

In many ways it was deeply erotic, fetishistic, and honestly pornographic. The treatment of Arthur is gratuitous in its sadism, it's often lip-bitingly intense. The pleasure it takes in torturing him is transparent, and so openly sexual. In the most obvious case: hands grabbing and clutching his clothing to strip him bare, the display of his contorted body and exposed stomach, water and paint dripping down his neck and onto his chest. If you prefer fandom terms, it's whump. There were a few instances where I thought it should have gone much farther, where the way it held back felt cowardly or dishonest. Was any of this its intention? Difficult to say. The line between the emotional intensity of sex and the emotional intensity of pain is hard to distinguish.

Arthur's relationship with Harley mirrors his relationship with his mother, someone else he has to put a mask on for. Her painting his face before allowing him to fuck her is the equivalent of her having put a paper bag over his head. I enjoyed her manipulative and unpredictable nature. She's attractive in the way Lou Bloom is. And the very immediate and inappropriate whirlwind relationship that spawns from two people who connect entirely through their own suffering is familiar.

Hurt and pain is an intrinsic part of Arthur as a character, he's simply designed to suffer alone. This is what makes him so incredibly easy for certain people to like. Maybe they feel similarly about themselves, maybe they like the idea of healing him, maybe they just like to watch harm befall a man until he breaks. There are many reasons to find him beautiful just as he is, even if he was never intended to be.

To me his story was taken to its logical conclusion, a conclusion it could easily have reached in the first. A different outcome would not have made sense. And despite it being so logical and obvious I didn't expect it to happen at all. But it did.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

WHUMPCEMBER DAY 3

Begging

Content : plushie whump, psych whump, bad treatment of mentally ill.

I may or may not have issues with teddy bears

- Y-you can't do that. That's the only thing I can call mine. Dr Caretaker told me I could keep it !

Whumpee's voice shook as he spoke, trying weakly to get up to reach the doctor Whumper. The latter frowned as he took a step back and nodded sternly toward two orderlies.

- Caretaker is too soft to work here, I already told them.

The orderlies grabbed whumpee's shoulders and forced him to sit down on the padded floor of his cell. Lost in his drug induced daze, he didn't struggle. Dr Whumper lowered his gaze at the worn-out teddy bear he was holding in his hands. He slipped two fingers into the seam running across its neck and pulled lightly. The cracking of thread coming loose echoed in the padded room, followed by whumpee's distressed wail.

- Please ! Please don't! I'll be good, I swear, I'll be good ! I-I won't try to leave ever again, I promise!

Whumper looked down at him. The patient looked utterly pathetic, tears and snot mixing on his face as he stared with terrified eyes at his plushie. The doctor huffed.

- Grow up, whumpee. You can't be dependent on this stupid thing all of your life, not if you want to leave one day.

Another crack made whumpee cry out again, his face contorting in anguish. A bit of stuffing fell to the floor.

- P-Please ! I'm sorry please! PLEASE !

His voice turned to a terrified scream as Whumper separated the teddy's body from its head. Throwing both parts at an orderly, he gestured for them to leave. Crawling towards the bits of stuffing strewn on the padded floor, whumpee sobbed quietly.

- Please no, come back, please...

@whumpcember

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#3: The dance of pain

Previous/ Masterlist / Next

CW: Pet whump, violence, torture, psychological manipulation, dominating whumper, captivity, slavery, stress position, power dynamics

As Andrey's hand reached out for the knife, Noah's heart raced like a wild beast trapped in a cage, its frantic beats echoing in his ears, each pulse a drumbeat of impending doom. The glint of the blade sent a shiver down his spine, his mind swirling with horrific visions of what was to come.

"Please... don't..." Noah's voice quivered, barely audible over the thunderous pounding of his own heart. But his plea fell on deaf ears as Andrey's cruel smirk widened, relishing Noah's fear like a sadistic predator savoring its prey's distress.

With agonizing slowness, Andrey dragged the tip of the knife along Noah's chest, the cold steel leaving a trail of icy dread in its wake. Noah's breath hitched as the fabric of his shirt parted under the blade, exposing his vulnerable skin to the mercy of Andrey's whims.

Relief washed over him momentarily when Andrey placed the knife down, only to be swiftly replaced by dread as Andrey's hand reached for the whip. Noah had almost forgotten about the whip... almost.

The crack of the whip split the air, causing Noah to flinch violently at the sound. He couldn't fathom the agony of that thing lashing against his body.

"You're all bark and no bite, huh? Look at you," Andrey sneered, creeping up behind Noah, tracing his back with the whip. "You were cussing me out only a few minutes ago. But you're just a little pest, waiting to be squished when brought in front of fear."

"I'm not... I'm not just some... some pest..." Noah's voice trembled with defiance, but it was a feeble flame struggling to burn against the gale of Andrey's cruelty.

Andrey's laughter echoed in the chamber, a chilling melody that danced on the edge of madness. "Oh, but you are, pet," he taunted, his voice dripping with venom as he circled Noah like a vulture eyeing its prey. "A pathetic little pest, begging for mercy from its master."

With a snarl, Andrey brought the whip down upon Noah's back savagely. The crack of leather against flesh echoed through the chamber, sending shivers racing down Noah's spine as pain exploded across his body like wildfire.

He had never experienced anything like this before. His whole back was on fire, and he felt as if he couldn't do something as simple as breathe.

Before Noah could recover from the brutal hit, Andrey brought the whip down again, making Noah scream out loud from the searing pain.

"Not so mouthy now, are we?" Andrey mocked, bringing the whip down once again.

The crack of leather against skin echoed through the room followed by Noah's raspy screaming. His body convulsed with each brutal strike, his muscles tensing and contorting in agony. He bit down hard on his lip, the metallic tang of blood flooding his mouth as he fought to stifle the screams clawing at his throat.

Tears flowed down his cheeks, blurring his vision as he hung suspended in the suffocating darkness of his despair. Every fiber of his being screamed for Andrey to stop. To stop all of this. He just wanted to go back home to his mother. Was that too much to ask for? To have freedom?

Unfortunately for him, it was too much to ask for. If by any chance Noah had found the courage and lung capacity between the lashes to speak the same, Andrey would've probably left him half-dead in the chamber.

"With every lash, I will give you a rule to follow, and you will repeat after me. Understood?" When no response was given except for small sobs, Andrey grabbed Noah's hair, pulling his head back as the other cried out.

"Understood?"

Noah managed a weak nod, blinking through his blurred vision. Andrey decided to let the lack of a vocal answer slide, sensing Noah's unfamiliarity with his twisted game.

Another lash landed on Noah's back with a harsh crack. "You will address me as Sir. Using my name will only land you with more punishment."

Noah could hardly think, let alone be expected to repeat these sick rules that Andrey was concocting for him. A sob tore from his throat. Andrey only rewarded him with two consecutive lashes when hr decided Noah was taking too long to speak.

"I-I will address you by Sir."

"You will not show me any attitude."

With every rule, a white-hot searing pain overcame him from the whip.

"S-STOP! PLEASE!"

Andrey rolled his eyes, delivering another lash "Not what I want to hear, pet."

Noah felt his fingers growing numb, the cuffs digging into his wrists, raw and bleeding. "I-I will n-not show... atti-attitude," he stammered, his voice fading into a broken murmur.

"You will speak only when spoken to unless it's absolutely necessary."

A strained groan escaped his lips as his head lolled forward. A broken scream tore from his lips when Andrey dug his finger into one of his wounds. "Wake yourself up."

"I will- I-I will only speak when spo-spoken to..." Noah stuttered, his words muddled by tears and pain. He tripped over slurred words, simply breaking down into more sobs.

Each lash of the whip seared into his flesh, each command drilled into his shattered psyche, stripping away every ounce of his humanity until there was nothing left but a hollow shell, a puppet dancing to Andrey's twisted desires. Noah's eyes eventually closed, his head slumping forward as the much awaited unconsciousness welcomed him.

And in that suffocating darkness, Noah prayed for a miracle, a glimmer of hope to break through the despair that threatened to consume him whole. But in the heart of Andrey's chamber, hope was a fragile whisper drowned out by the cruel laughter of a tormentor who reveled in the suffering of his prey.

Taglist: @ash-reh @anutz1234 @miireux134 @whatwasmyprevioususername @nuriiz134

@parasitebunny @morning-star-whump (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

[creator-of-calm-queer-chaos]

You know what an underrated whump trope is?

Whumpee being on the floor on their stomach, desperately army crawling away from whumper, already in so much pain, when whumper stabs them in the back

And their face contorts in agony and their hand, outstretched to pull themself forward, spasms. They gasp for air, vision going blurry, as Whumper stands up, grinning. Whumper’s fuzzy form moves in front of them and that’s the last thing Whumpee sees before their head falls, and their hand goes slack.

The knife is still in their back.

[sufrimientilia]

The Regimen

cw: medical/lab whump, lab rat whumpees, noncon drugging

He woke in a restless and uncomfortable state. He was on the same thin, spring-loaded slab of cotton he woke up on before, with the sticky white sheets and the white fluorescent lights, plain obtrusive monotony all around him. It was all indistinct and hard to remember, hanging just out of reach.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The bed to his left was quiet, a messy clump of limbs and sheets with some face buried in between. He had yet to see that guy conscious. The beds to his right had more activity, the rest of them groggy and confused like he was. Nurses fluttered about at the start of the row. They usually went down one by one, and he was the third—fourth?—bed in line, second to last. It always gave him just enough time to know what was coming before it was his turn.

A man in a large white coat loomed at the foot of the beds. Muffled gasps and groans came from whoever was in his immediate attention. They weren’t faring so well. Two nurses hovered close, working hard to restrain struggling limbs, and for a moment all he could see was an arm raise and twist, contorting like an animal getting crushed and pulled apart.

He tried to sit up and realized his wrists weren’t restrained. Oh. Something about the novelty of it had him testing his limits, like he could finally lift his arms and stretch wide, but then he just flailed, all sluggish and clumsy, and flopped onto his side. He trembled hard from the wasted effort.

He was so tired. He absently watched the wild struggle of limbs, thudding and extending, skin pulling impossibly taut, until suddenly he blinked and the whitecoat had moved on to the next bed. The grunter from before was quiet now, head lolling. A different nurse worked to snake a long, long tube down their nose.

Now the next bed was getting the same treatment. Two nurses at each side, poking and prodding and prepping. The whitecoat stood back and took notes. At his nod, they gave a single injection at the crook of an arm, and the reaction was nearly immediate: eyes rolling back, muscles clamping up, contorting and twisting and gasping, gasping, gasping—

A cold sheen of sweat prickled across his skin. Sticky all over again. He tried to sit up and was left sprawling, weightless, so achy and miserable and weak it became clear why they took off those restraints in the first place. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

Panic was an abstract, foreign feeling when there was nothing he could do about it. His efforts cost him another few minutes, anyways. The next time he came to his senses, it was from the hard jabbing of a nurse hovering overhead.

The guy in the bed right next to him had his eyes rolled all the way back, mouth wide open, head lolling. The third nurse ran a tube against all the drool on his cheek to lube it up before lining it up with his nostril and-

His gaze swiveled back towards the ceiling. There was a nurse at his other side too, and she pulled away his shitty lump of a pillow to make him lay flat. He felt his arm get stretched aside, fingers pressing around for a vein.

“Mn… gh—” He tried to speak and nothing really came out. He tried to push them away and didn't move at all. Everything felt heavy, but nothing was heavier than the slow muddy guck of his mind.

He was fucked. So, so fucked.

The sharp slip of the needle came faster than he could process where the nurse got it from. He didn't even see the syringe, but he felt every bit of its contents go in— like bristling fire running up his arm, spreading and spreading, prickling and digging deeper and deeper down to his core.

He blinked so many times the world became a shutter shock of black. His jaw clamped hard. The tension suddenly went down the back of his neck, and the nurse waited until his mouth briefly snapped open to shove a folded towel between his teeth. It was warm and wet, bittersweet.

And then there was nothing. Burning, twisting, writhing, and-

—

He woke up. Or his eyes cracked open.

Buzzing, thrumming. Throbbing. It all hurt something fierce. Like he felt sicker than he could describe, sicker than he could even process.

Just, just miserable.

Blurry-edged fluorescent lights against a plain white ceiling. He swallowed and winced at the sting going all the way through his nose and down his throat. He tried to move and winced harder at the pain all over— white, hot, encompassing.

A nurse appeared overhead. The panic feeling came back. She propped up some sort of canister attached to a long tube, which hung suspiciously close to his face. She started pouring something into the canister, and just seconds later he could feel the warm heavy slosh of liquid. It thickened in the back of his throat and traveled down, down, down.

Out of instinct, he swallowed and swallowed because it felt like he was going to choke. Wasn't like it made a difference. The nurse kept pouring, and a cursory glance to the side let him know exactly what he had in store: whitened, rolled back eyes, mouth slack and wide open. Left brainless hollow, an empty puppet strung up by an ugly tube taped at a nostril.

A deep numbness settled low in his stomach. Like whatever he was being fed was making the most visceral parts of him go lax limp and lost. The feeling spread all over, piece by piece, every part of him melting away until his view of that plain white ceiling broke apart, darkened, and turned into meaningless blots.

Static.

—

The row of subjects were a scattered disarray of incoherence. Most of them were quiet. Bed One often groaned or cried out; they were the most resistant to the regimen, and it was only a matter of time before their dosage was raised. Bed Two took most of the attention of the bedside nurse, losing all bowel and bladder control, gagging and sweating and puking as if every part of the body needed to reject what was being given.

The others responded better. Bed Three looked to be at peace, eyes rolled so far back it was hard to see the absent euphoria keeping him adrift. Drool glistened across his cheek, and sometimes he even smiled or moaned.

Bed Four also looked at peace. He stared at nothing, eyes half-open and lazily roving back and forth. He didn't even twitch when a nurse peeled his eyelid all the way back. "Vitals within range. No signs of awareness.”

“Bed Five.”

“No change. Still maintaining his own airway.” This one responded maybe too well, but he’d get the regimen the same as the rest. Probably crash sooner than later.

The man in the white coat loomed nearby, taking his notes. He finally nodded and walked back to the foot of Bed One. "Prepare another round of injections."

[alldevilsarehere90]

May I request #2 and #18 with Daryl pretty please?

(Some Daryl whump if you’re feeling especially generous <3 )

Title: All I'm living for

Pairing: Daryl x female reader

Summary: Just when you finally got the man you wanted, another surprise could threaten your relationship, especially when a herd of walkers is almost at your door step.

Setting: Alexandria (between season 8 and 9)

Warnings: talk of pregnancy and motherhood, anxiety, crying, slightly suggestive, angst and fluff.

Word count: 4k

Prompts: "I'm pregnant ok, that's why I don't want to go on runs and that's why I've been avoiding you." "You can't be serious, that's suicide!"

A/N: I have never done hurt/comfort before, so I hope I've done it well. I did try to condense this one, only to end up making it longer haha. Enjoy!

The feeling of careful eyes on you, suspicious, narrowed and unwavering, and you knew just who they belonged to. Without even looking you knew, you knew he was trying to read you and you also knew you were not making it easy.

You and Daryl had shared a different kind of connection from the very first day you met, one so deep you were aware of the others presence before coming into view. The electricity that charged a room the two of you were in was undeniable. You'd had your time of pretending not to notice, that was…until terminus. You will never forget reuniting with him outside of their captive walls, the sheer relief to have him in front of you, holding him in your arms as he squeezed you in return. 

It was then you could no longer lie to yourself about how you felt. Lying to him, however, was surprisingly easy while you lived on the road, constantly moving from place to place, you hadn't had a moment to breathe let alone relax enough to think about it. 

Until Alexandria.

Then you spent too much time thinking. Overthinking. The timing was never right, or his mood never seemed to fit, or sometimes you just couldn't face the thought of rejection and losing his friendship in the process. 

Then came the saviours.

That's when everything changed, you no longer cared about being embarrassed or unrequited feelings. 

When he was captured by Negan you were filled with regret and it was all consuming. If only he'd known how I felt about him. If only I'd told him before this.

When he returned, he was a different person. It took a long while for him to open up to you and tell you his story. He needed time, that much was obvious but in this world we didn't have the luxury of that before something else needed our attention or our fight. 

You'd confessed one night, when you found him asleep in his basement room having a traumatic nightmare. His body jolted and his face contorted in pain, it hurt your heart in ways you couldn't even describe, in ways you didn't even think possible. He whispered your name and your hands were on him, gently stroking to rouse him from his horror.

He'd awoken with a start, eyes darting to all the dark corners in the room, reaching for his knife when he saw your silhouette.

"Daryl, it's just me." You said, hands up as you stepped into the moonlight seeping in through his small window.

His fright dissipated as he dropped the knife; clattering against the wooden floor. The tears in his eyes had you closing the space between you and wrapping him in your arms, he clung to you while he cried. 

That was the night you could no longer keep the words inside you.

His response had told you everything. He made love to you that night, drawing his name from your lips numerous times until the yellow of the sun streamed through his window. 

Since then, passionate kisses and delicate caresses only when you were alone, along with whispered words you'd only dreamt of…until a week ago.

You'd been off, that much was obvious to everyone in Alexandria. Knowing Daryl, he was probably obsessing over what he'd said or done to upset you, you could practically see it ticking over in his mind constantly and it killed you. Knowing it was you making him feel that way, knowing you were making him doubt himself, something he definitely didn't need any more help with but right now, you couldn't get out of your own anxiety; you couldn't see past it, as selfish as it was. 

The constant feeling of wading through mud, everything seemed harder and your mind felt slower than ever, you were drowning in it and nobody could pull you out of it. Especially Daryl and that was a first. He was the person you spoke to about everything but this…something this big and you couldn't bring yourself to tell him. 

Making the mistake of glancing over at the group discussing the herd of walkers travelling in this direction, only to meet his gaze and for a moment, you see a flash of hope in his eyes as he straightens up, rigid on his seat on the steps of the porch of your shared house.

Your body flinches but you force a smile as you look away again.

"Hey," a voice sounds behind you, making you jump.

Looking over your shoulder as you continue sharpening your knives, you're met with Aaron's sincere and concerned face. 

"Hey." You reply weakly, head down and focus back down on your task, relishing in the high pitched scratch the blade makes against your stone.

He slowly squats down next to you making avoiding his questioning gaze now impossible. "What's going on?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, the tears pricked the corners of your eyes, making your vision blurred but you stayed attentive to your knives. "Nothing."

Sighing he placed a gentle hand on your leg, the notion a comfort you didn't want, knowing you would crumble right here in front of everyone. "You're not fooling me, I know you and I know when there's something troubling you," his thumb rubs small circles on your thigh, in his usual caring manner. "why don't you come over to my place and we can talk? And whatever it is, I'll be here to support you however I can." 

A lone tear fell onto your lap as you were careful to keep your eyes down. Aaron must have noticed as he gently took your hand in his and pulled you up discreetly, leading you towards his house. 

You were closest with Aaron, second to Daryl, he was someone you trusted with your life but this wasn't just about you. How could you share this with him when you haven't spoken to the one person who needs to hear it the most?

As soon as your back’s turned to Daryl and the rest of your group, you swipe at the warm tear that escaped, leaving a wet trail down your cheek in its wake. 

Sitting in Aaron's house, leaning back into the couch and feeling yourself relax slightly from the familiar comfort, worry evident in his eyes as he took the seat opposite you. "What's going on?"

Chewing your bottom lip, debating where to even start, not sure you can even find the words to explain how you feel. You're more than aware of how you should feel rather than how you do and yet, here you are, unable to even understand this pit that has formed, weighted and heavy inside you.

"Is it Daryl? Did something happen between you two?" 

You swallow the nervous dry patch scratching away at the back of your throat. "You could say that," mumbling in response.

Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, eager to hear what's on your mind. "Did you tell him how you feel?" 

You could see it, the excitement blooming under the surface that he was trying so hard to keep restrained and to put him out of his misery by nodding in response.

"And?" His eyes wide with eagerness, almost cartoon like and under any other circumstances you would have laughed. "Did he upset you?"

Letting out an amused sigh as the idea was ridiculous in itself. "No, far from it." 

He smiled, seeming satisfied and leaning back against the chair. "Didn't I tell you he had feelings for you? You two are made for eachother." 

He registered your watering eyes and immediately joined you on the sofa, taking both your hands in his, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You swallow the nerves you feel rising in your throat like bile, burning your insides as they creep upwards. 

"It's me, I'm messing things up, not Daryl." 

The tears fall freely now, unable to ebb the steady stream down your face. "He's amazing and I don't deserve him for how I'm making him feel right now."

He rubs your back softly as you speak through your sobs. Regaining some ounce of your control in order to choke out the words that made you want to vomit. "I–," your stomach lurched at the thought of even saying those words. "I–," you sat up straighter assessing the churning of your stomach. 

"I think I'm gonna be sick." Your hand went straight to your mouth as Aaron managed to hand you a bin before your breakfast came up and out of you, your stomach pulling, retching until there was nothing left to bring up.

You hadn't noticed you were alone until Aaron walked back in with some tissues and a glass of water, to which you down greedily, feeling a thirst like never before.

Kneeling down in front of you rubbing your arms, he looks you over. "Are you…are you pregnant?" 

You nod, gently pushing the bin with your foot, wanting it as far away from you as your leg could reach before it had a chance to turn your stomach again. 

"Have you told Daryl?"

There it was, the loaded question you couldn't face. Your eyes met his; guilt and desperation radiating from them, telling him the answer before you had a chance to speak.

"Why not?" He frowned, sliding closer to you, holding your knees. It wasn't lost on you how he knew you responded best to touch. It made you feel safe and that was what you needed to open up.

Shrugging, not really knowing yourself and painfully aware of the cop out response you were giving. "I'm scared."

"Listen, Daryl would be a great father and–," 

"I'm not scared of that." You almost scoff, the idea of him being anything other than that is absolutely preposterous. "I know he'd want this baby, and I know he'd be an amazing father." 

You stop, taking a shaky breath, pulling the courage from inside you to speak the truth, "I'm scared of bringing a baby into a world like this, of being terrified all the time that something will happen to it, of being so afraid if something happens to me or Daryl and where will that leave the baby. People die all the time now. Look at Glenn and Abraham, Sasha…Carl. What if we come across another group like the saviours. What if I can't protect this baby?" Another pause and when you next speak your voice comes out like a haunting whisper, "what if I'm an awful mother?" 

You can't help but stand, pacing across the room as thoughts race into your head. Some old offenders and new. Your hands find anchorage in your hair as if that will stop your head pounding with unanswered questions.

"How can I fight walkers off with a screaming baby? You can't, it just goes against everything nature is throwing at us right now. I don't want to go out on runs, I don't want to leave these walls because it's not safe enough, how am I supposed to be useful anymore?"

Your feet finally find pause as your eyes search Aaron's face, pleading for some kind of resolution of all your worries.

He takes a few tentative steps towards you. "And you're worried you'd be a bad mother?"

Taking both your hands in his, he gives them a gentle squeeze. "You're already protecting this baby, you're already being her mother."

That silenced your wild thoughts for a moment. Every decision you've made recently was putting this baby at the forefront of your mind, even if that meant letting others down, that didn't matter anymore, only the safety of your baby and yet, you've failed to realise that until now.

While you processed his words, something else stood out to you. "Her?" 

He smiled, "I can just picture Daryl as a girl dad, that's all." 

Your heart swelled in your chest, fit to burst at the image of Daryl holding a little mini you. A little girl with your hair and his eyes. The scene flickered behind your eyelids like a movie, him smiling down at her while holding her tiny body, making his hands seem even bigger. As a child, teaching her how to track and hunt but letting her put makeup on him or play dolls with her. Then, as a teenager, dealing with hormones and mood swings and trying to fiercely protect her from heartbreak. The image had excitement blooming inside you.

"Listen to me," Aaron grew serious again, "it's terrifying, I know. I'm scared for Gracie constantly and she's not even biologically mine. But when I come home to her and she's safe, that's all that matters."

Aaron had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water, even whilst grieving for the loss of his beloved…Eric. 

"And look at our family here," he continued, "…they are always there to help and support me since Eric…" he trailed off and your heart panged for the sadness in his eyes, forcing a smile he continued. "Look how you are with Gracie and Judith, you protect them so fiercely, I know there isn't anything you wouldn't do for them."

You'd die to keep them safe, without question, like many others in your family would too. The support system you were lucky enough to have was incredible.

Suddenly, you stood here feeling rather foolish. Here this man in front of you was raising a baby on his own after the tragic death of his partner and here you are with the man you've wanted for years, ready and willing in front of you, plus the gift of his baby but almost throwing it all away. And for what? Because you're scared. God, you wanted to slap yourself and tell yourself to grow up.

You have everything most people want in life and yet, you're over here crying and worrying about things that you can't really change, a world you have no choice but to make the best out of, instead of being with the man you love and sharing this happy news with him.

You had the opportunity to be a complete family unit, how many people in this world got the chance at that?

Aarons eyes locked with yours, his wide and full of meaning, "Whether you realise it or not, you're already a mother."

Those words made your heart pound violently in your chest with purpose and validation. 

He was right.

You felt a lot brighter about this unexpected pathway your life had now taken and ready for the next step of talking to Daryl.

With a freshly splashed face you returned to the house you shared with some of your family members, Daryl's eyes on you instantly, chewing his lip as he anxiously played with his pocket knife.

Rick glanced round at you, a solemn look on his face you'd come to know well.

 "Just the person I was waiting for," he put an arm around your shoulder as you joined them. "Listen, I need your help, we've got a herd coming our way, the biggest yet."

All previous positivity diminished hearing those words. You knew you would all have a part to play in keeping Alexandria safe, the cost was unavoidable but who would be the one to pay the most?

"We have a plan…" 

You looked up at him sensing what he wasn't yet saying, "but?"

A slight grimace contorted his face, "but, you're not gonna like it."

You couldn't help your eyes rolling, wishing he would just get to the point. The anticipation was too much to bear, especially with your stomach churning again, through nerves or nausea you weren't sure. "Spill it."

He informs you of his plan. He had men out there building barriers ready and hoping their faith in Rick wasn't misled. 

Who was staying behind to fight them off at the gate? Who was going outside the walls to try and keep them in formation- you apparently? And who was going to try and lure them away? You knew the answer to the latter before the words had left Rick's mouth. Anxiety and anger bubbling and ready to erupt at any moment.

"Daryl's got the bike, he's offered to lead them away, as many miles as he can get them before turning round and coming back." 

Your head shot over in his direction.

"You can't be serious, that's suicide!" Your voice was loud enough that it shocked even you. 

Daryl's eyes were on you, a hint of relief before he concealed them to his usual blank glare.

"Ain't nuthin I ain't done before." He mumbled.

"Why do you have to do it alone? What if something happens to the bike? With all of them following you?" You were tense, your body coiled ready to spring into protect mode for him.

His response to shrug infuriated you fiercely, lighting a fire in your belly, something that must have been obvious as Rick's arm around you dropped and he gave you some much needed space.

"Can I talk to you?" You directed at Daryl, sharply. "In private." 

You stormed up the stairs of the house, hearing his slow footsteps follow behind and stomped down to his basement room, less chance of being heard in there.

"So now you wanna talk to me, huh?" He says kicking the shut behind him. "This what I have to do, to get your attention?"

Guilt stabbed you in the gut, nausea rearing its ugly head again but you pushed it aside needing to be brave and needing to do the right thing.

"I'm sorry." You started with simply, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes as he took a step towards you. "I'm sorry I've been…off. I was too in my head and too scared to talk to you about it because once I did then it would be real."

He looked down at his feet, face hiding behind his messy bangs, nervously chewing his lip, a sight that made you want to grab him in your arms and never let him go. "If ya changed ya mind 'bout us, it's fine, I get it."

You froze, heart aching that that was his first conclusion, before closing the distance, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. "My feelings for you will never change, Daryl Dixon, don't you dare suggest otherwise."

He nods timidly, fighting a small smile before his brow furrows. "Have I upset ya?"

Shaking your head. "No. You haven't done anything wrong." 

"Then why ain't yer spoke to me all week? Yer ain't been near me or wanted me near yer."

The tears pricked your eyes, feeling like the worst person in the world for making him feel this way. He did not deserve this, he was the last person to deserve to feel like that.

"I'm pregnant ok, that's why I don't want to go on runs and that's why I've been avoiding you." You blurted out quickly before you had the chance to be distracted or interrupted.

His eyes popped as his frame stood frozen, unwavering and silent.

"I was scared," you continued, attempting to ease the shock. "and I didn't know how to tell you. It's all happened so fast." You sighed, the weight of the world removing itself from your tired shoulders. "I'm sorry for making you feel like it was something you'd done."

His hands came up to either side of your face, gently holding you in place, thumbs softly stroking your cheeks. "Are yer sure?"

You nod, eyes moving back and forth between his, "I found a pregnancy test from one of the stores on our last run and did it as soon as I got back." 

Watching the light of sheer happiness in his gaze illuminate his entire face made you exasperated with yourself for neglecting to tell him this long. How could you ever not want this man?

His hands still cradling your face pulled you close and his mouth was on yours, gentle yet urgent, with one arm wound around your waist holding you close, bodies pressed up against each other.

You had missed his hands on you, the warmth he radiated and his body close to yours. Heart hammering wildly, drumming against your ribcage so hard you were sure it was trying to escape to join Daryl's as one.

Breaking away only to catch your breath, foreheads still touching, your hands found their way around his neck, keeping him as close to you as you could. 

"'m gonna be a dad." He said quietly, a heart wrenching smile stretching across his face, a rare sight that you bathed in when it was present.

"You're going to be the best daddy." 

You knew hearing that meant more to him than anything else due to his relationship with his own father. 

His eyes sparkled as his gaze clicked with yours again, the intensity of it making you weak in the knees.

"I love yer." 

Breathing hitching, heart fluttering hearing those words from him for the first time, even though you knew it, it had never been uttered out loud.

"Now, how are you gonna tell me something like that when we have urgent work to do," you stroked a finger down his face, relishing the way his body shivered in reaction, "and I can't make love to you exactly the way I want to." 

He kissed you again more fiercely, growling as his mouth explored yours like a starved wild man.

"I'm yours as soon as I'm back." He rasped.

Reality came crashing down on you then, hitting you like a ton of bricks, suffocating you under their weight. "You're not doing this alone. I mean it, this time."

He nodded. "Fine, but ya ain't coming. I need yer here, behind these walls, keeping our baby safe."

You're about to put up a fight but nod, knowing it's pointless to argue with him. Besides, he wouldn't be able to focus on his job if he was worrying about you.

You would do what you could behind these walls unless it was vital.

You both head out onto the porch with the others, while Daryl goes over to Rick you take a seat on the steps next to Rosita, who mouths, "you ok?" Nodding and smiling in return, you squeeze the hand she puts atop yours.

Watching as Daryl whispers to Rick, his eyes meet yours with a flash of surprise followed by warmth, before composing himself somewhat. Clasping Daryl's shoulder before pulling him into a quick hug and turning back to the group.

Rosita turns in your direction but you ignore it and keep your eyes on Rick.

"Alright, I need someone to take a car and help Daryl lead the walkers away?" Rick asked, turning back towards you all.

"I'll do it." Aaron's arm shoots up and instant relief washes through you. The two people you trust the most helping each other out there, you felt much more comfortable about the situation now and didn't feel as sick knowing they would be out there together.

Rick calls your name, regaining your attention. "You'll be here on the wall with Gabriel, you're the best shooters we have. Do what you can from here to hold our walls."

You nod in agreement, before everyone breaks away to start getting ready.

Daryl's by your side in an instant, arm winding around your waist and pulling you to him. Your arms make their way around his neck as you memorise his face, every line, scar and curve. 

"I'll be back soon, ok?" He says quietly.

"Make sure you are." Standing on your tiptoes you kiss him passionately, relishing the way he tastes against your mouth, not caring that your family were watching.

"I love you." You whisper against his lips.

His answering smile makes your stomach flutter as he gives you one last kiss on the forehead before heading over to his bike. 

"Stay safe." You call out, hands clasped tensilly together in front of you.

"Always." He replied, turning around to face you and walking backwards. "Make sure you stay safe!"

You lifted two fingers up and crossed them over each other, making that silent promise to him, one you would do your all to keep. 

A hand squeezed your shoulder and when you saw Aaron's face next to you another pang of sadness and anxiety pulled your heart strings. 

"Stay safe, and thank you for going with him." You whispered as he pulled you into a hug.

"We'll both be home soon." His gaze turned serious as he held you firmly in front of him, "be careful."

He heads off towards the car, returning your attention to Daryl, who's mounted his bike and whose eyes are already on you. His stare fierce and yet loving, the way that man was capable of conveying everything he needed to in just one look never failed to surprise you.

A lump the size of a golf ball sat in your throat as you watched him start the engine, giving one last look back at you before he begrudgingly lifts his foot off the ground and let the bike take him. You watch the wings on his back carry him off until the gate closes.

Your chest felt empty, a giant hole still beating but with nothing inside, until he returns, bringing your heart back with him.

[oldwritingm]

yoyo!! not really a current request unless ur up for it but when your requests open again!! Wallace wells platonic comfort w a reader who is having a massive meltdown since that's been my life lately (help me lord) anyways ty pooks stay safe!! xx

YES MA'AM!! o7 Coming right up for a friend in need!! i hope you feel better sweets ♡(｡´• w •`｡)

Word count: 895

Scott Pilgrim - Some Comfort From Wallace Wells

Heart racing. Hands shaking. Tears blurring your vision. You weren’t even sure what you were doing—your every action was driven by sheer panic and stress. The sound of your own cries was the only thing in your ears.

That was, until you heard something else:

“Y/n?”

And suddenly there was something on your arm, the pressure of it increasing until you were being forced to turn around. 

“Wallace? What are you—” you shook your head, still not quite thinking clearly. You let out a sob, wiping frustratedly at your tears.

“It’s all just—!” You weren’t quite sure what you had intended to say; you were really just using shouting as an outlet for some of your overwhelming emotions right now. “Gah!”

“Y/n,” the sound came again, still not really registering in your mind. The pressure on your arm had moved to your forearm, and there was an identical feeling on your other forearm. Your hands were pulled away from your face, and you were forced to look at the man in front of you.

“Slow down,” he said, and for the first time your mind understood that those were Wallace’s words, and that noise was coming from him. 

You sniffled sharply, clenching your eyelids shut to squeeze out a few more teardrops. 

As much as you wanted to rampage, to flail your limbs and destroy something, it felt strangely good to stand still for a moment. But the moment passed quickly, and soon you were faced with the strong urge to crumple to the ground and start wailing again.

But your friend seemed to pick up on the urge as soon as it came, and in a moment his arms were around you, pulling your weight against him. Your head rested heavily on his shoulder as you brought heavy arms around his neck, sniffling and weeping all the while.

Still embracing, you waddled somewhat awkwardly as one to the couch. You sank down on the cushions with an audible whump. A shaky sigh escaped your lips at the lethargic feeling of sitting; all the remaining tension in you was gone, replaced with an even more burdensome weight. It was as if your limbs had gone from being made of wood to being made of sandbags.

Your shoulders still shook while you cried. Wallace’s tight supportive grip loosened into a more comforting one, his hands rubbing your back slowly.

He waited for you to stop convulsing with sobs to pull away. You couldn’t meet his gaze, but you knew he was looking at you.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

A deep frown contorted your face. You opened your mouth, but a sudden tightening in your throat made you question whether you really did want to tell him. Your mouth almost closed, but your lips remained parted, as if you couldn’t decide whether to speak or be silent. 

After a few moments, Wallace shrugged. “You don’t have to. I just thought you might like to.”

“I do,” you said suddenly, surprising him and yourself. Your frown twitched at your own rasping voice. “I just… It’s so much..!”

“Hey, hey,” Wallace put his hand on your arm, stroking it. “Don’t get yourself all worked up again.”

You nodded, biting your lip and forcing yourself to take a deep breath.

“Not a bad idea. You know, I once heard that deep breathing actually makes you hotter.”

You couldn’t help snorting at that. For all your misery, for all your overwhelming stress, Wallace could still get at least a giggle out of you. And giggle you did, much to his relief.

“It’s working already!”

“Shut up,” you managed between giggles, your voice still strained from crying. But now there was a smile on your face, and you lifted your head to actually look at your friend.

Your smile faded, and your eyes flicked away for a second before you spoke again. “Okay, I think I’m ready to talk about it.”

“Then I’m ready to listen.” Wallace reclined a little on the couch—his signal that he was ready for a long story, should this prove to be one. A long story, or a long vent. 

You finished speaking several seconds ago, and now silence filled the room. Wallace sat up to put his arm around you.

“Thanks for telling me. If I can ever help, please don’t be afraid to let me know.”

“...yeah, okay,” you murmured, feeling glum after recounting everything. Wallace took the balled-up tissue from your hand and replaced it with a dry one.

“I just hate seeing you like that.”

“I hate feeling like that.”

“I hate seeing you like this, too,” you could hear the sardonic smile on his lips, and you let out a sharp exhale in a halfhearted laugh.

“That bad?” You sighed, cringing as you imagined your own puffy eyes and red nose.

“Come on,” he said, his voice straining as he stood up. “To the bathroom!”

“The bathroom?”

“We need to fix… this.”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna take a while, but…” he let out a sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “I’ll do it. I know, I know, I’m so kind and awesome and selfless and—”

“Pfff—shut up!”

You both burst into laughter, and you made sure to step on Wallace’s toe when you stood up to follow him to the bathroom.

Thank you for requesting, love!! I really hope you do feel better,, hugs and kisses <33

[arctrooper69]

Don't Forget

Crosshair x Inquisitor!Reader

For the @clonexreaderbingo prompt "Don't forget"

Warnings: Mentions of torture (both mental and physical). Generally dark theme.

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"They left you. They betrayed you. They hurt you."

It wasn't just the constant mental barrage of half truths and words twisted ruthlessly until you could no longer decipher your own thoughts. You could still feel the physical pain long after it was over - the electric agony coursing, stinging, burning through your veins. The smell of your own scorched flesh still lingered everytime you took a breath.

"Do you hate me now? Don't forget how angry that makes you. Let it fill you. Let it consume you. Let it grow until all you can taste is vengeance."

And it did. You let the anger fester inside of your veins like the chemicals they pumped to muddle your mind and dull your senses.

There is only much pain the human body can take before you become numb to everything else. There is only so much anger you can hold inside before you explode. When you explode, there's nothing left of who you were before and no one to pick up the pieces save for the one who made you this way in the first place. All the atrocities in the galaxy can be committed guiltlessly if you believe they wronged you first.

Crosshair knew this better than anyone but it still made him angry. It made him angry to see what they did to you. It made him angry to see how they broke you and built you back up in their own image. Just like him.

Empire. Inquisitor. Good soldiers follow orders either way.

"Don't forget that they left you. Don't forget the pain they put you through."

Don't forget.

Don't forget.

Don't forget.

"Remember the pain, the suffering, the anguish. Don't you want it to end?"

Don't forget who you are.

Crosshair sat on the cold, durasteel floor outside of the ray shielded cell they'd put you in. Force-binding shackles encircled your hands and feet. His brothers hadn't known what else to do. Your red-rimmed eyes starred at him, face contorting with rage. Maybe someday you'd come back to him. Maybe someday you'd forgive him.

"Do you remember who I am?" he asked softly.

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[whumpsoda]

Seeing Me in You - Delivery

Masterlist

Wrote this on a whim :3 pretty short but who caresssss… might write more??? Might also delete later

cw: pet whump, threat of recapture, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery

——————

He shouldn’t have opened the door. Checked the peephole at the very least, as if that would have done him any good.

He could never have escaped them.

August stared ahead into the corridor of his apartment building, jaw falling slack as his mouth went wide and eyes stuck agape. A lump formed quick in his throat, tightly wound with sick acid burning a hole through his neck. His organs flipped and churned over one another, brain filling with flooding nausea.

WRU employees. At his house. August was going to be sick.

Were they speaking? Their voices reduced to a muffle inside his mind, hearing going blank. An itching sensation flared over his arm, just the spot where his tattoo was carefully shielded by his sweater. He lifted a hand to scratch at his throat, the place where a cheap collar had once sat and rubbed around his neck. The memories stung, yet not worse than the sight of such specific uniforms.

No, this was much worse.

His pulse was quickening my the second, heart beating in and out of his chest. He couldn’t breath. Warm, thick bile was slithering it’s way up from his stomach, twisting his insides in contorted knots.

They found him. After so long of comfort and faux personhood, they had found him. Come for him even, to take him back as their property. To refurbish him. To sell him and beat him back into shape, and to train him yet again-

Before August could so much as collect his scattered, bleeding thoughts of past horrors and tortures, one of the employee’s lips parted. “Would you like us to bring it inside? Or leave it here?” He muttered, so casual August almost couldn’t digest his words.

August, body filling ever so carefully with disbelief and panic, trailed his vision down to his feet where his eyes stopped. A large, nearly-fit-for-a-human sized box sat at the workers’ feet. He knew that box well. Very well. He’d been inside that box.

They weren’t here for him.

August could have jumped and squealed from a mixture of terror and joy that he was still safe, never to be recaptured and refurbished. At least, not yet, anyway. But there was a boxie in the process of a delivery at his apartment doorstep.

How could that be? How? What disgustingly cruel, rich asshole’s boxie was sitting inches away from him? Just waiting to be claimed as his own? And why?

His mouth moved swift beyond his own accord, mind gradually catching up with his quivering lips. “You… um, you can leave them there.” August croaked out, voice meek and continuing to waver no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“‘Kay.” He shrugged, and that was that.

They didn’t suspect a thing. No idea they dropped the order to the wrong person, let alone a former boxie. How impossibly lucky for the poor thing. August could barely believe it himself.

He watched with intense focus as the two employees calmly and quickly left, keeping an intense eye on them just until they finally turned the corner. As if at the last moment they would realize their mistake, and either take the boy back, or end up taking him as well.

Careful and terrified, as soon as he heard the pitter patter of their steps dissipate, he turned to the box.

August, still standing rigid in the doorway, with intense fascination trailed his vision over each and every little ridge of wood and nails, eager yet terrified to open it. He swallowed, thick and juicy saliva that rolled it’s way down his throat.

What just happened?

—————

Masterlist

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

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[serickswrites]

Close II

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, forced to watch

Caretaker wasn't sure how much longer they could endure. They had to look. They couldn't stand it.

They had promised Whumpee. They knew that. Knew they couldn't look. Whumpee had begged them. Caretaker knew they needed to stay strong.

But they had underestimated how difficult it would be to not look.

Between the sound of Whumpee's limps jerking, their heavy breathing, and Whumper's chuckles, it took everything in Caretaker not to open their eyes.

"Oh, come now, Caretaker, surely you want to look," Whumper said as Caretaker heard them flick the switch to the battery.

They could hear Whumpee sigh with relief. Caretaker stupid sitting there, roped to a chair, waiting for rescue. Waiting for Whumper to hurt Whumpee. Waiting for Whumpee to ask them to open their eyes.

"DDDDDDon't-t-t-t-t C-C-C-Caret-t-t-t-takkkkkerr," Whumpee managed to croak out.

"I won't. I promise," Caretaker said as they screwed their eyes shut tighter. Tears stung Caretaker eyes as they began to flow freely down Carertaker's cheeks.

But as Whumper flipped the switch again and Whumpee began to shriek, terror gripped Caretaker's heart and they couldn't help it. They wrenched their eyes open to see Whumpee's face contorted with pain as their limbs jerked and tightened and Whumper's unadulterated glee at the sight of Whumpee.

"NO!" Caretaker shouted, unable to help themself.

Whumpee's eyes found Caretaker's. Whumpee couldn't speak, only shrieks of pain escaping their lips. But their eyes said everything. Caretaker couldn't help but feel guilty for the look of betrayal in Whumpee's eyes.

Tags: @espzd @painsthegame @whumptea @whump-or-whatever @madmadder @sadist-by-night@bisexuawolfsalt @thisisjustmywhumpreblogblog @lit-lists @bookworm75431 @weeweewoopwoop @me-likey-the-whump @darkthingshappen @basica11ywhumped @kn0ckme0ut @enervated-clown @lthrboy @whump-me @whumpbump @st0rmm @whump321

[starryybrained]

Let’s Show You the Ropes

Several whumpers show their new recruit how to train the pets they take in. However, one of them seems to be going through… personal issues.

Content: Multiple whumpers, pet whump, female whumpee, defiant whumpee, stress position, restraints, conditioning, violence, implied torture

“It’s not so bad, sweetie.” They pulled Patch’s hair, dragging her head back. She forced herself not to groan, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her tongue. She could barely react any more than that, tied up so her body twisted and contorted unnaturally, straining her joints and muscles. It was like hell.

She was forced on her knees, arms folded to her chest and her wrists tied to her neck. A length of rope stretched from the back of her neck to her ankles, making her look like she was praying.

She knew by the end of this, despite her constitution, she would actually be praying for it to end.

The stranger pulled her hair harder, yanking, and they finally wrenched a pathetic noise from her. Disgusting.

“If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

Their company snickered.

“Fuck you.” She spat. “Like I’m… going to cry for you.” Despite her words, Patch’s voice shook.

“Oh, we will.” Another said, grinning. What was there to grin for? “You’re gonna be fucking sobbing when we’re done with you.”

A third spoke up. “Hey — You’re not supposed to tell her she’ll cry either way, that makes the offer voi- aH!”

The first slapped them straight across the face, and they shut up real quickly. Patch watched the exchange from the corner of her eye, straining to see them. She would have laughed if she had the heart.

The third went silent after that.

“Don’t speak if you know what’s good for you.”

She nodded, expression stunned.

“… Tch. New, isn’t she?” Second said, adding useless commentary.

“She won’t be after this.” First assured them.

“Right.”

The first and second turned back to Patch, the first regarding her with judgement and the second with a kind of hunger, as if bringing harm to Patch would satisfy them. Like it would taste sweet.

“Patch.” First spoke, commanding. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I know… damn well.”

“Tell me why.”

Patch bit her tongue. This was disgusting. Embarrassing. She couldn’t believe she’d been reduced to this.

“Because I need correction.” She said, recounting the exact words she’d been forced to repeat over and over.

“Yes.

“Good girl.”

Fuck, those words sounded poisonous coming out of First’s mouth. Patch’s stomach turned in response to simply hearing them.

“You’re here to learn how to be better.”

“Not just better — to be perfect.” Second said.

“I know—” Patch interjected — and she was met with a swift kick to the ribs that made her groan.

“Shut. Up.”

Patch didn’t respond. No ‘Yes, Sydney’ — that was the First’s name, but she refused to use it — none of that ridiculous bullshit. She would never behave. She’d already made up her mind.

The first scoffed at her resistance.

“This is what you get when you’re a piece of shit, you know.” Oh, so they were switching tactics. Good to know. “You get tied up and…”

“And tortured.” Second added quite helpfully.

First gave them a look, a killer glare that would have sent Third quivering. “You get tied up and have your lessons beaten into you until you get it. Until your stupid little pet brain understands that you are nothing.”

The first loomed over Patch, positioning themself so they could look her directly in the eyes.

“I’ve honestly had enough of your bullshit—” They snapped, their voice turning into a yell, grabbing Patch’s face and squeezing her cheek, their touch burning. They slammed her head into the nearby wall, and Patch’s skull literally shook with the impact. They ripped her head away, and she could sense the tremors still shaking throughout her.

“Oh my god —” The third gasped, possibly by instinct, or maybe by habit. She covered her mouth, terrified, but the first seemed to let it slide.

“Forget going easy on you at all, actually. I don’t give a damn.”

Patch breathed hard, counting her breaths, thankful she still had them.

One. Two. … One. Two.

“Calm down, Syd. It’s just a pet.”

The first let go of Patch’s face, and it drooped, lolling to the side. Despite her pain, relief washed over her.

“It’s not just some fucking pet—!” They spat. Their voice had a rough quality to it, raw and violent.

They let out a shuddering breath.

“God. You’re right, Tristan.”

“Always am.”

“I… I need to take a break.” They ran a hand through their hair, their posture seeming to wilt.

“Go ahead.” Second said. “I can train for you.”

First was silent for a moment, and the air turned thicker with every second they kept their mouth closed.

“… Thank you.”

The door shut behind them with a CLANG, and silence crept into the room once more.

Then, Sydney screamed, guttural and loud, audible through the thick metal of the door.

Patch went still at the sound of it.

All was still afterwards.

Patch could hear Third breathing, almost gasping, erratic.

“Hey, hey — you’re fine, you’re fine-” The second reassured her.

It seemed as though they had forgotten Patch entirely.

…

She could deal with that.

“What — what are you guys doing here?”

Second looked at Third funny.

“What do you mean?… We’re training pets.” They said, sounding slightly confused, yet there was a humor to their voice.

“I— I know-” She stammered. “I just… thought it would be…”

“Hm?”

“More humane.”

Second bit back a laugh. Meanwhile, Patch struggled to cope with the burning feeling of her body being stretched too far.

“This is a human pet, Leo. They’re not the same as your… dogs and cats.”

Second paused to think. “… Okay, they’re a little similar, but not the same.” They admitted.

“You get it, right?”

The third watched Patch with an unreadable expression, deep in thought.

“…Yyeah.”

Second smiled, patting her on the back. “Good. Now let me show you the ropes, why don’t I?”