#defiant whumpee my beloved

[chaotic-orphan]

Helo helo, just asking...r u planning to update heroic betrayal? 👁👁 NO RUSH THOUGH IT'S JUST REALLY GOOD AND I CAN'T WAIT SJSJHSHSH

GOOD DAY!!

Heroic Betrayal (X)

Read part one // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to everyone who commented under the last part, that made me cackle like a maniac, and everyone who asked for a continuation of this series that warmed my heart— I’m so sorry it took so long, and I hope you enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*

The concrete cut into her cheeks like a sharp edge, her shoulders hitting the walls and her feet tumbling over her head until she crashed and bashed every point in her body on the way down. She ended up on her stomach, blood dripping from the side of her head. She tried to push herself up, but a hand grabbed the back of her neck and dragged her stumbling to her feet.

She felt like she was going to be sick, stuck in a twister of Supervillain’s strong sharp movements that she couldn’t anticipate with her pounding headache raging.

“Now, here we are,” Supervillain said and he shoved Hero forward again. Hero tripped over her feet, her ankle rolling as they tried to stop her momentum in vain. An edge of something metal caught her around the hips and she fell forward, her torso folding with an oomph. A click and the room flooded with light. Hero squeezed her eyes shut, the light burning compared to the pitch black it was not a moment ago.

Hero squinted taking a quick survey of the room, searching for an escape, but no, no, no, no. There would be escape from this room that was just a concrete square of torture devices. Hero’s heart jumped into her throat as she glanced down at the metal bench below her hands. It was a table. A surgical table. Her stomach bottomed out as she gasped involuntary, stepping back and right into a solid chest.

Her blood ran cold and she couldn’t stop the tremors of fear tearing through her. Two strong hands settled on her shoulders and she flinched despite herself, her entire body trembling, her eyes and brain disoriented from the fall and the lack of oxygen and her fucking pounding headache. And she was really starting to wish she didn’t open her mouth.

Hero let out a sharp breath, a claw of panic grabbing at her chest as her eyes scanned the room searching for a window or anything that would tell her she wasn’t underground right now. She couldn’t… couldn’t breathe, oh fuck, there were no windows, there was a window in the cells, she gasped, pushing back against the chest shaking her head.

“Oh that’s right,” Supervillain cooed behind her, his voice painted with sick delight as his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Villain told me you were claustrophobic. Does being underground trigger it, Hero?”

Hero drove her elbow back wildly hitting her mark, but Supervillain didn’t flinch or even grunt. Instead he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm up and around her back, the other going to the back of her neck and slammed her down against the table.

“You really have no manners, Hero, do you know that?”

“F—fff— fuck you,” she said between fretful breaths. Every action, every movement was lessening and lessening, she only had a little bit of oxygen left in her lungs that was stuttering out. The walls pulsing closer, shrinking and she squeezed her eyes shut. At least the metal of the table was cool under her cheek.

Supervillain pushed her wrist further up her back until Hero was crying out, trying to kick back at Supervillain to get him to stop but the lack of oxygen in her lungs was dizzying as she scrambled. Her brain was fried, and she couldn’t remember any of her combat training as panic seized her throat.

She splayed her fingers, mind reaching, the invisible pull of her blades familiar as they rushed back to her hands. If she could just— two clangs against the door upstairs and Supervillain straightened, letting up some pressure. Hero pulled and pulled, trying to rip the daggers through the obstacle but Supervillain grabbed her splayed fingers and pushed them back down into a fist, smothering her connection to her daggers.

“No!” Hero wailed, struggling furiously under him, kicking back, trying to do anything, get anywhere away away away away from the danger, be able to breathe again properly. Her tears hit the metal table with wet, metallic drops, like a leaky tap dripping into the sink.

“What did I tell you about using your powers, Hero, hmm?”

“Let go of me, you fucking psychopath!” Hero cried, anger flooding her veins. With Supervillain’s hand off her neck, Hero threw herself back with a roar of adrenaline mixed with fury. Supervillain’s grip tightened on her wrist, about to push it up but Hero wedged a knee up between the table and shoved until the pair went stumbling.

Hero slipped free of Supervillain’s hold in his stunned state, but he recovered quickly, grabbing at her hoodie but Hero was too quick, and she was ascending the stairs, her breaths getting heavier but her breathing becoming even the closer she got to the surface.

She got to the door and grabbed the handle and shoved it open.

Only.

It didn’t open.

Hero stared. No. No. No, no, no, nonononono!

NO!

Hero slammed an open palm on the metal, screaming. “FLYNN! FLYNN I’M SORRY PLEASE! Please!”

Footsteps on the staircase. Hero slid down the door, banging weakly against it and crying out for Flynn to save her as Supervillain advanced again.

“Did you really think I’d leave a handle on the way out of this room, Hero?”

Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, focusing all her energy into the glare she shot at him, hoping he would melt right on the spot. Which he didn’t.

“You can come down and your punishment will be less severe than if I have to drag you down.”

“Fuck you,” she said, her voice cracking halfway through. She splayed her fingers again and wished, hoped, prayed that somehow they would get through the thick metal door she was trapped behind.

Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! What was she going to do? There was only one option for her right now and that was down, down into a tight, underground nightmare that was threatening to kill her. She needed— she needed to be able to breathe to think clearly, but even thinking was difficult at the thought of being dragged back down to Supervillain’s torture chamber.

Supervillain sighed, a few steps away from her. “Okay, Hero. Have it your way.”

He reached down and grabbed her ankle and turned to walk down the stairs. Hero kicked at him, landing a few solid ones on his arm and back before he was dragging her down and Hero’s head smacked off the concrete steps. She didn’t even have time to scream or groan or whine, small gasps at every bounce fogged her vision until she was back on solid ground.

Supervillain appeared above her, grabbing her, one arm under her shoulders, the other her knees as he bent over and scooped her up. She protested weakly, her brain rattled and her reaction time non-existent. Supervillain placed her on something cool under her skin, but she could feel something wet on the back of her head.

She reached a hand up to find the source of the wetness, but Supervillain grabbed her wrist before she could investigate and strapped it down to table in leather. He pulled the cuff tight around Hero’s wrist, so tight she couldn’t move it left or right, just up and down. She whined when he took her other wrist and restrained it the same way by her side. Then he moved onto her ankles and soon Hero couldn’t move an inch, her eyes glazed over and staring blankly above her.

Supervillain grabbed Hero’s cheek, appearing in her scope of vision, but there was two of him now, a shadow or a clone. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hmph, you spoiled some of my fun, Hero. I was hoping to teach you this lesson to remember, but, oh well. I guess I’ll just have to leave a reminder for you when you’re more conscious, won’t I? Something you can’t ignore.”

Hero blinked at him, the entire world moved like cotton and she was completely out of it, Supervillain’s words echoing around her head. On loop over and over again, but still seemingly so far away.

“Lemme go,” she pleaded weakly, pulling at her restraints.

Supervillain smiled a wicked smile down at her. “I’m thinking something like a three strike system, Hero. Like tally marks or something to that effect. Something easy to understand, strike one was your insolence at dinner which will not be tolerated. What to do,” Supervillain mused stepped away from the metal table and out of sight.

Hero pulled against her restraints, trying to loosen them as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Flynn… she thought hopelessly. Please, please, rescue me. Please.

Supervillain returned to the table, a hunting knife in hand. “Wait, no, please.” Hero didn’t even know what she was protesting, but the words fell from her mouth anyways as Supervillain grabbed her right hand.

“Three strikes, Hero. While I know I could cuff you in power dampeners and leave you down here to hyperventilate all night I think this will be far more effective.”

“Tell me Hero,” Supervillain began as he started undoing the cuff of her right wrist. “Is it all knives you can summon with your ability?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Any will do.”

“Fascinating. And do they all sharpen your senses when you feel them in your hand?” Hero glared at him as he free her wrist and turned it so the back of her hand was positioned above the metal table. Hero didn’t bother asking him how he knew that, because she knew the answer he would be all too happy to supply. The reason Supervillain knew everything about her; Flynn told me.

“It depends on the knife,” Hero answered, the pained fog of her mind ebbing and flowing allowing some coherent thoughts to pass through her brain. “None are as good as my blades, but that’s because I made them myself.”

“I will never cease to be awed by adepts and their crafts,” Supervillain said fondly, tracing the tip of the hunting knife up Hero’s elbow and forearm before pinching it down slightly on Hero’s wrist. Hero didn’t dare struggle or move, afraid if she did the knife would slip and she would be dead. “But now that you’re more conscious, I’ll repeat your punishment.”

“We will do a three strike system, this is strike one. With every strike I will leave a wound on you, a scar that will remind you not to make another mistake again, okay?”

Hero shivered at how easy he explained his punishment system for her, as if he was telling her that her car needed an service or one day it would just stop. “Three strikes, and I will drag you along to watch Sidekick being murdered and you’ll know it was all your fault. Okay?”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Wonderful.”

In one quick movement, Supervillain slid Hero’s right hand over the rim of the table and plunged the hunting knife in all the way through her palm. A howling, banshee’s scream tore through Hero’s throat as she bucked against her restraints, howling and screaming: please, please, stop! Stop!

Tears and snot clogged her senses as she shook her head, her arm violently trembling against the trauma and Supervillain’s tight hold. Hero splayed her fingers on her left hand, trying to summon the knife out of her hand, but Supervillain’s grip was too strong, or Hero’s pull was too weak, and he twisted the knife in her hand instead, pulling more shrieking screams of pain from Hero.

“There, now. The first two strikes will be in your palms, Hero. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise, you,” he said, stressing the final words, “will fail.”

Hero sobbed as her fingers tried to curl around the blade but could barely move more than a flinch in any direction. Hero wouldn’t be able to summon her blade for this hand for a while, until the wound healed and even then? Would she get physio for the muscles and tendons Supervillain just cut through with a terrifying amount of strength?

Supervillain put a hand on Hero’s hair, brushing the strands from her face like a parent would a child who’s eating an ice cream and threatening to get their hair stuck in it, chiding but fond.

“This doesn’t have to happen again, Hero. We can be civil with each other. You and Flynn, I know you have a special connection. A bond. You can have a nice life here, free from the burdens of being a hero in this city, of always fighting uphill battles hmm? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Hero was shivering, staring up at Supervillain and she knew she probably looked sickly pale and ashen as she felt the blood harden around the blade in her palm, dripping down to the floor on the other side. She knew it would leave a scar, the reminder that Supervillain wanted her to know in her gut and it made her sick.

“So Hero,” Supervillain beamed, smiling down at her. “Will you behave?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded, warm tears flooding her cheeks as she sniffled. Supervillain’s smile turned softer, comforting, like a concerned parent. “Use your words, Hero.”

Hero sniffed. “Y-yes,” she croaked.

“Yes, what?”

Hero sucked in a breath. “I’ll… I’ll behave.”

Supervillain smiled. “Good. Good. Excellent. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

Supervillain removed her restraints and sat her up on the metal table, and said he’d be a minute getting the things he needed around the room.

Hero sat upright shaking violently and trying to hold her hand steady by supporting it with her free hand at the wrist. She stared blankly ahead, both staring at nothing and staring resolutely at one white painted brick, where the groove was a faded, paler white, less glaring at her while Supervillain gathered supplies.

Before too long Supervillain was in front of her, setting bandages and gauze and rubbing alcohol down on the tray beside the bed. Along with other stuff Hero wouldn’t think was necessary like a ruler and Q-tips and other supplies. He was wearing surgical gloves as well, and despite herself Hero was thinking about what he did for a living.

“Are you a doctor?” She asked, her voice hollow.

Supervillain smiled a secretive smile at the question, as if he just found her out. “Ah. You’ve noticed, have you?”

Every once in a while Hero forgot that Supervillain was her nemesis of the last year, the Moriarty to her Sherlock Holmes, the Joker to her batman, although really more like the Riddler with how elusive he was. When she considered Supervillain’s job back before she knew him, she suspected it would be something as cerebral, like a lawyer, or a judge, or a doctor. She didn’t feel good that she was right.

“Yes, I’ve been a doctor since medschool. Long hours, overworked conditions, but I won’t bore you with hospital tales, snd luckily for you I happen to be an acute trauma surgeon,” he told her, smiling up at her through his lashes. “So your hand won’t have too much lasting damage. I didn’t hit any of the important muscles or tendons.”

Hero gasped, which sounded more like a bewildered laugh, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hissed as Supervillain pressed down on the wound. He smiled. “Sorry, I just have to make sure I didn’t hit anything important. Okay, yes.”

He took a Q-tip from the table and said, “okay, Hero. I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Try not to move too suddenly.”

Hero let out a sharp gasp of pain aa Sueprvillain inserted the Q-tip through Hero’s wound until it almost poked out the other side. “You’re doing great Hero.”

But she wasn’t. She was going to be sick as he pulled it out and she saw the blood. The smell had never annoyed her before, but now the metallic kiss hung on the air like a factory that had to suddenly cease operations, a promise of something to come.

He set the Q-tip on the table and measured the blood stain against the ruler. Hero stared down at it, her vision blurring slightly as her mind went woozy and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Supervillain was standing over her hands on her shoulders sitting her back up again. Hero blinked, bile climbing up her throat.

“Here,” Supervillain said and shoved a bar of chocolate into Hero’s hand, the wrapper already opened. Hero blinked at it dumbly, and Supervillain gently guided it to her mouth. Hero took a small bite of the sweet, velvet chocolate. “You fainted. You’re okay. It’s normal with this kind of injury, but I would like you conscious while I tend to it.”

Hero blinked at him and when he was certain she wasn’t going to faint again he released her shoulders and Hero remained upright.

“If you’re a doctor…” Hero said, her head spinning, but she was determined to get this out of her head. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”

“Ah,” Supervillain smiled. “Yes. The hippocratic oath. I did.”

“Then how can you justify this?” Hero asked, nodding to her hand. Supervillain was silent for a moment, dabbing at the bleeding of the wound, staunching the blood and cleaning around it. His movements were so methodical, so clean and purposeful, Hero found their eyes drawn to it as she took another bite of chocolate.

“Where I stabbed you, Hero, is a very delicate place to be stabbed. There is a flurry of activity in the centre of your palm.” Supervillain squeezed just below the wound and Hero squirmed with a groan. “Here is your carpal ligament that controls the movement of your thumb, index and middle finger.”

He squeezed Hero’s thumb and said: “and here are all the muscles for full use of your thumb. If I went too far to the right I could risk damaging the ligaments that connect to your other two fingers, or hitting a clump of nerves.”

Supervillain dropped Hero’s hand and held up his own, pinching the spot the dagger went through Hero’s palm. “Here, there is a hole in your hand. No bone, no muscle, no nerves or ligaments. Minimal damage and less time for recovery. No need for more than standard hand physio and six weeks recovery at most.”

Supervillain smiled at Hero. “The Hippocratic Oath is an oath all doctors must take to do no harm. However, all doctors must accept that in order to make something better, there must first be pain. To treat the sick they must make the sick endure the pain, and fight infection, the body must fight.”

“Your defiance, in the long run, will make you worse than if I curb it now. So I am doing no harm, by ensuring that you quit fighting me unnecessarily. The same way I am trying to stop this city from running straight to ruin.”

“I must do no harm,” his smile was warm, “as a doctor. But as a civilian I can’t stand by and watch this city burn. Does that answer your question?”

Hero stared. Then shrugged with their good shoulder. “Not really, but I’m kinda woozy from blood loss right now.”

Supervillain laughed. “Mmm, let’s do something about it.”

Supervillain worked fast, careful to only press too hard when Hero gave him a snarky reply, and later on she would wonder how she got so comfortable with the man bandaging her up being the same man that stabbed her in the first place. She would attribute it to blood loss and Supervillain would bandage her head and help her up the stairs he threw her down before, and when they got into the kitchen he gave her painkillers and water.

Flynn rushed through the doors, his heart racing when he saw Hero. Her head bandaged and her hand bound so tight and thick that Hero couldn’t close her fingers even if she wanted to.

“H-Hero?” He asked, breathless. Hero smiled at him when he came in and waved. Flynn was by her side in a second, while Supervillain stopped chatting to her about the reason they chose to replace the black and white tiles for the floor in the kitchen. “Are you okay? Hero, oh—”

“She’s fine,” Supervillain said lightly. “We’ve cleared the air, haven’t we Hero?”

Hero nodded, smiling at Flynn. Something she’d attribute to her concussion later because everything was just a little too smiley, a little too comfortable, a little too easy, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that Supervillain didn’t give her the floating, high end painkillers.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard the screaming,” Flynn said, his hands going to Hero’s cheeks, checking her over and looking for any sign that she was lying to him. Other than her too large pupils she seemed okay. “I— your daggers— you—”

Hero grabbed Flynn’s hand with her unbandaged one and interlaced their fingers. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tears brimmed on top of Flynn’s bottom eyelids as he looked at Hero, his Hero, acting so unlike herself. So compliant and soft. It made him ill, the fact that he was the reason Hero was injured in the first place. That she was being subjected to the whims of his family.

God, he didn’t think Dad would do this…

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hero asked with wide eyes.

Flynn ran a thumb over her bruised cheek, his touch featherlight. “Of course. Will you give out to me tomorrow about it?”

She shrugged happily. “Probably.”

Flynn laughed, and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’d love to.”

Flynn helped her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers keeping her close. “Be sure she doesn’t sleep for the next hour or two.”

“We can watch a movie!” Hero said, her voice light and chirpy, so like it was when she’d get excited before that it made Flynn’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he guided her out of the kitchen, away from his father and up the stairs to her room, terrified that if he dropped her hand for even a second he would lose her forever. “We can watch a movie.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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[whump-in-the-closet]

“No, wait a second! wait! Please— just wait!”

“I thought you were tired of me hurting you. I’m giving you a break.”

“No! Don’t hurt them— I can take it. I’ll do it.”

[whump-galaxy]

The defiant Whumpee didn’t care if they died. For a long time they didn’t, at least. It made living in hell easier. Then the Whumpers went and found themselves another hapless victim.

So what? It wasn’t the Whumpee’s responsibility to take care of fresh meat. They could’ve cared less.

But then the Thing had to go on and look up to them with those big, watery eyes. Speak with that trembly little voice, “Did I do something wrong? What’d I do to end up here?”

The Whumpee didn’t care about dying. But now they’re gonna live to protect this new captive, even if it’s the last thing they do.

[uriswhumpchamber]

Whumpee looking at the camera, mouthing "you hear this guy?" in the middle of one of Whumper's rants.

[neon-kazoo]

A Misunderstanding

[Context: A vigilante and a villain have an arranged, cooperative deal between them. That is, until something goes wrong, much to the vigilante’s confusion. This story takes place from the POV of the vigilante, beginning in the middle of an unrelated mission/project that the villain is unaffiliated with.]

(Warnings: threats, kidnapping, gun mention, knife violence, blood, fairly descriptive cut/stab wounds, interrogation/torture, helplessness, self-harm kinda, more language than usual, sexual harassment mentioned with implied past experiences)

Note: Technically these are ocs of mine, so if you catch any unexplained details that’s where they’re from. This whole snippet was intended to develop their dynamic, but at this point it’s really just whump lol. I just realized I had over 4000 words written that would otherwise never see the light of day so I made some tweaks to post it. If I missed any name replacements you saw nothing; there was a lot of words ok?

This is extremely long and heavier than most of my snippets, so be careful!

———

“Vigilante, grab some tubes from that room down the hall. I think it’s the third door on the right.”

I left the room to grab the materials for the project. Walking down the hall I lazily counted: one…two..

I reached the third room, and I could see the PVC from the doorway. Eyes locked on the stack at the back of the room, trying to figure out how I was going to carry so many large pieces, I missed the uninvited guest lurking beside the open door, allowing him an opportunity to catch me off guard and shove me into a wall. I opened my mouth to yell for the team but my eyes processed faster than my mouth and stopped me in my tracks.

What was Villain doing here?

I must’ve looked shocked- because I was. A personal appearance from this man could mean nothing good.

I racked my brain for any reason he might have to come find me. I came up empty. I certainly didn’t remember doing anything to him worth wall-slamming me over.

The slight ease I had at identifying the familiar face disappeared when I looked closer at his expression. There was a subtle anger painted on his usually-carefully-blank features.

“I’d suggest coming quietly,” he stated in his signature effortlessly-menacing tone. He spoke easily, like he executed an impromptu abduction every Tuesday morning.

“Come where?” I questioned, immediately suspicious. What was this?

“Somewhere to answer some questions,” he replied. His words were vague. Empty. His tone suggested I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him, but I felt the urge to press.

(Why not here, why now, what was so important?)

I knew better than to argue, but I hadn’t quite grasped the gravity of my situation yet. I shifted, ready to plead that I was in the middle of something rather important, when a knife appeared at my throat, pulling me right back down to Earth.

“Or we can skip the questions.”

Questions it was.

I walked obediently when prompted and he held solidly to my arm. We exited the building via fire escape (how did he know I was here?) We reached the doors of a black SUV parked conveniently in an alley a block over from my operation. As slowly as I could manage, I worked my fingers up into my sleeve. PSAs about the odds of surviving being taken to a second location flashed in my head but were interrupted by the introduction of a gun at my side.

“Press it, and you’re dead.”

Well, fuck.

On second thought, I actually adored second locations. I dutifully climbed into the back and used my remaining energy trying to stay calm as my hands were secured to the seat and a bag placed over my head. My bracelet was, of course, removed.

I love car rides. I tried to imagine this was just another trip, it was just….dark out. At 9 in the morning. Yeah, and I had no idea where we were going. I would be trying to think of how I was gonna play this—whatever this was—but I genuinely didn’t think I had ever risked pissing Villain off. As a result, I was painfully unprepared for whatever was about to happen. I wanted to say how unnecessary this all was, that I would come willingly if asked, but something stopped me.

Fear. Something was wrong.

It was probably just a misunderstanding.

Probably.

I lost track of time and turns, instead just counting my breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four, repeat. I successfully held my panic at bay and was able to stand on my own two feet when I was finally pulled out of the car and led to who-knows-where. I blindly shuffled all the way through somewhere to a chair in front of a table to which my ankles were secured. My hands were left free and the blinding sack was removed.

The ceiling was covered in fluorescent lights that my eyes struggled to adjust to. I dropped my gaze to the floor, which was clean white tile with a silver disk in the center. Villain stood by the door, and apparently the ride had given him enough time to re-craft his careful features back into a perfectly smooth slate. The air in the room was uncomfortably cold, enough to raise goosebumps on my arms if it weren’t for my jacket.

A proper interrogation, but for what.

“Empty your pockets onto the table.”

He was all nonchalance now, and it was extremely off-putting. He studied me closely, and I barely refrained from squirming under his gaze. In the spirit of cooperation(survival), I obeyed the order, laying out a substantial array of multi tools, first aid, gadgets, and more onto the table top. When I finished, Villain strolled over to the table, studying the items before swiping them into a bag which he settled by the door. All but a switchblade, which he left sitting closest to his side, out of my reach.

He rounded the table to my seat, gesturing for me to slide off my jacket—which he threw by the door, much to my chagrin—and kneeling to pat the rest of me down. He found nothing.

He was silent as he returned to sit in the chair opposite me across the table.

Logic told me to copy his stare and his silence, but my anger and confusion made me reckless. The urge to speak overrode my rational mind.

“Dude, what the fuck.”

Hopefully, that statement would confirm my innocence, as it was definitely designed to do. I was not at all pissed about the deliberate jacket move, or being dragged out of an important mission against my will. Humanizing myself. That’s good, right?

“What? Are you surprised your actions have consequences? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice dripped with condescension.

He placed his hand over the switchblade and I came to the sickening realization that there was a drain in the floor.

“I thought you were smarter than this, I really did.”

“What the fuck,” I repeated slowly, “are you talking about?”

He stood, and the knife was open. I ignored the blade and kept my eyes locked on his.

“I cannot defend myself if I don’t even know what you think I did.”

“You do not play dumb with me. I do not give second chances.” His voice entered a register that I had never had the misfortune of hearing before.

This was not the man I knew. This man was somehow more dangerous, and he wasn’t making sense. He wasn’t listening.

“I wonder if you keep your knives sharp,” he spoke aloud with mock curiosity, twisting and turning the tip of the blade against his fingertip. He advanced around the table and I could do nothing to stop him. This stubborn, arrogant man was about to hurt me over nothing.

I had my hands, but they could not reason with him. They could only hold tightly over his wrist as he held the knife close to my skin. Rapid acceptance flushed through my brain as reality finally registered like a heavy weight descending upon my shoulders.

If he could be stubborn, so could I.

“Fuck you, Villain.”

The tip of the blade pierced the skin of my arm and I held my mouth firmly taut. He was cutting right above where the foundation and concealer covered the tattoo on my upper arm. The leaking blood was going to ruin my careful color correcting.

Blessedly, he skipped over the rest of the upper arm and focused his efforts on my lower arm instead, which he now held in an iron grip. I hated the feeling of being grabbed but I wouldn’t show it. He did not need any more power over me.

“You’ll take a lot for that man,” he noted incorrectly as he traced down my skin with the metal.

I was at a loss.

“For who?” The pain made my words fierce. I was angry and there wasn’t anything I could do about it except let it leech into my mouth.

“I am not an idiot, [real name].” He leaned in, and fuck him.

I seethed, “Apparently, you are, since you’re spending your time cutting up someone who doesn’t know shit about what you’re on about.”

The knife plunged deep into my forearm, and I gritted my teeth hard.

“Is he worth it?” Villain taunted.

“WHO?” I demanded, still trying to guess, to figure it out before I got diced like a vegetable but the pain made my brain foggy and I just couldn’t concentrate. The knife twisted slightly, and with it brought heat and a sickening pulling sensation.

This was not what I signed up for.

The blade came up to my face, mixing blood with sweat and the salt of involuntary tears as it slid across my cheekbone.

“To think, all this time, you were just [Politician]’s bitch,” he whispered.

Affronted was an understatement, but my offense was overridden by confusion.

“Who the fuck is-“ I stopped as the gears in my brain finally started to turn, greased by the crimson dripping across my skin.

“Are you talking about that asshole counselman?”

The gears were rusty but- what was his name? CM [Olitic]? [Politi]? [Politici- Politician]! CM [Politician]. The man I blackmailed into tipping me off about low-profile cases because he couldn’t keep his hands off interns? I was getting scored like sourdough dough with my own knife for HIM?!

Villain didn’t react, just continued to drag the knife down my neck and lined it up at my collarbones. He had to cut and pull my tank top down slightly for better access.

“You’re his spy. What have you told him?” He hummed, and I took a second to gather myself despite the biting pain.

“His WHAT. Where the fuck did you get that from because let me tell you I would not kill an ant for that man let alone spy for him-”

The knife slashed over my other collarbone, and I raged.

“ARE YOU INCAPABLE OF A CIVIL CONVERSATION? LISTEN, YOU ARE WRONG. Wrong. Use your fucking words.” I wanted to spell it out. One more cut and I would be sent over the edge. “You absolute. Mother. Fucker.”

“Just a loyal. Little. Dog.”

He punctuated his dig at my supposed obedience with a hand wrapped around my throat. Possessive.

Oh, so he was trying to make me angry. I really should have seen the angle earlier because damn him it was working.

I couldn’t keep giving him the satisfaction. I took one deep breath and then another, ignoring the sting it brought up across my chest, and the restriction around my neck.

“Ask me a question, and I’ll answer it.” I looked him dead in the eyes when I continued, “or kill me and go fuck yourself.”

“What is your deal with him?”

A silent sigh of relief. Finally, something productive.

“He tips me off for counsel cases,” I explained-rather graciously might I add, given the circumstances. “He didn’t ask me to do shit for him, nor would I. I am not his personal spy. I keep the association off his back, and that is it.”

I reserved a few more choice words about his questioning techniques and waited while he absorbed my response. I sounded far more civil than I felt.

“And why would he do that for you?”

I thanked every god I knew that he seemed to finally be playing ball. Words I could work with, knives I could not.

“Blackmail,” I answered simply.

“Explain.” He raised an eyebrow, and also my knife.

“The association opened a case on him for sexual harassment. I have evidence that would prove rather unsavory for him, I hold on to it in exchange for his information. Basically, he tells me shit and I don’t bury him.” I looked to Villain expectantly. I had nothing else to say on the matter.

He tilted his head. He wanted more, or worse, he knew I had more.

My lips stayed shut.

He had a dangerous glint in his eyes when he spoke, “You don’t withhold from me.”

“Since when. That was not part of our deal.” Anger, deeper and older, burned cold inside me.

“It is now.” It was not that simple.

“I gave you enough,” I told him. I intended my words to be final. He had no right to ask anything of me anymore.

“You don’t get to decide.” Like Hell I didn’t.

“It is none of your business,” I spit back.

“I’m making it my business.” He just kept going. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that self-assuredness right out of every cell in his body.

“Cut me again and I swear you’ll never hear another word out of my mouth,” I blustered. With every fresh drop of blood, he was taking a middle finger to our entire arrangement, everything I had built.

“I highly doubt that.” He flipped the knife around in his hands. He ran his eyes along each of my new, bloody, decorative lines. Fine, maybe I was all talk. But he definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Put the knife away.” I smiled sweetly, but I was getting angry again, and I was losing the will to stop it. My self control spilled out of me in the streams of crimson blood that ran down my face and chest and arms to where it would ultimately flush down the drain and leave me defenseless. Still, that was exactly what he wanted. I couldn’t let him win.

“Or are you too scared of an equal conversation?” I challenged. Two could play at the angering game.

Unfortunately for me, Villain was focused elsewhere and didn’t take the bait. He had found a thread and he intended to pull it.

“Tell me the proof.” Impressively, he just didn’t know when to stop.

“No.” Welcome, Villain, to the hill I was willing to die on. “You cut me up for being a spy, which I’m not. I didn’t break our deal, but you just did. I owe you nothing. I will give you nothing.”

I wanted to tell him that he would never see another cooperative action out of me for as long as I lived, that he should watch his back, that he should expect to see me again soon, but I still needed to live through this and threats were definitely not in my best interests. I wouldn’t betray myself like that.

My skin burned and my arm throbbed. My heart beat aggressively against my rib cage but my adrenaline was crashing. I hurt and I was tired and I just wanted this to be over.

All that trust, and all for nothing.

Villain did not get the hint that I was done. For real this time.

When he brought the knife back, I grabbed it. I pulled it towards me to catch him off guard, sinking it inches into the flesh of my hip before ripping it from his hand and flipping the blade back towards him. He must not have thought I would do it, because he stayed close enough for me to be able to sink the blade into his stomach before he wrestled my arms under control.

A second later, I couldn’t move and I knew it was over.

“I hope it fucking hurts,” I spit coldly, blinking away my burning tears.

A flash of something–maybe surprise?– passed briefly over his face. I hoped it was fear. I needed the win. Before this all got worse.

My wrists got strapped to the chair and Villain was out the door quickly, knife still sheathed in his abdomen. I rolled my head towards the ceiling, eyes unfocused and blinking out tears. I felt satisfaction, then something darker tried to push its way to the surface.

I paid it no mind, just breathed and let it pass. That wound would not be fatal.

Exhaustion soon sent me into a state that was a pitiful excuse for rest. My head rolled forward and the burning faded into the background. I floated for an indeterminate amount of time.

The door opened, closed. A prick. I didn’t care.

I dreamt in flashes of hands and grabbing and helplessness. Fingers, digging into my arm, pressure, where there shouldn’t be-

When I awoke, I was on a cot covered in a thin layer of sweat. I was confused by the freedom of movement and the light smell of laundry detergent. I must’ve slept like a rock, because my cuts were cleaned and my forearm bandaged. I was also bundled in my freshly-clean jacket.

What on Earth-

Was this a motel?

No sooner than thirty seconds after I sat up did the door open and none other than the devil himself appear.

“I figured we’d try again,” the ghost of a grimace passed over his face as his eyes landed on me. “…differently.”

I blinked.

Unconsciousness had returned a bit of my clarity, and if I looked closely, Villain appeared…sheepish. A slight hunch, face pained like he was trying hard not to avert his eyes. Was he��remorseful?

I almost laughed at the thought, but managed to maintain a plain face.

“Uh huh,” I sounded cautiously, shaking off the last of my sleep-induced disorientation. What exactly did that mean: differently?

I gathered something had changed, but I did not voice this, knowing the man in the doorway would never bother to explain himself to me.

Instead, I added humorously, “be a shame if I didn’t believe you.”

I rubbed my eyes and smiled ruefully and he actually looked away. Villain, the original Big Scary Man, was unable to make eye contact with me. Instead, he pointed out a bathroom and said he’d be back in five minutes. The win was too good to be true.

It wasn’t until I made to slide down my waistband that I remembered the self-inflicted wound on my hip. It had also been tended to, a medium size gauze pad taped over the opening.

Now that I was once again aware of its existence, I noticed certain movements did send a shooting pain along the skin and into the fat that had been cut. I wondered how I didn’t notice it earlier. I suspected I would find stitches if I removed the patch.

Carefully pulling the elastic back over the medical tape, I stood in front of the sink, cupping my hands under the faucet and drinking until it no longer burned to swallow. Water drenched the front of my tank, but I didn’t care.

I checked my bandages and studied the open cuts in the mirror. A few had the skin held together with butterfly closures, the rest slathered in Vaseline or Neosporin. I ran my fingers gingerly along the cut on my cheek and wondered if it would scar. Keeping still had worked in my favor though, it didn’t seem too deep.

My left arm took the brunt of the damage. The rose on my upper arm was uncovered and wiped clean, and I thanked several deities it was untouched. I opened and closed my fist to make sure the hole in my forearm didn’t take out anything too important. I was no doctor, but I determined it was probably fine. Villain knew what he was doing, after all.

I studied my reflection one last time, shrugging my jacket back over my arm carefully. I took in my face, discarding the uncertainty and anger and leaving my features assured and closed. The Villain special. I walked out the door.

Villain was waiting.

He didn’t touch me, instead we walked side by side back into the room I had woken up in, which now had an apple sitting on a table to the right when we walked in. Ignoring all of it, I went straight to sit on the bed. I didn’t know what to make of his complete 180, so I drew one knee up to my chest and waited. I let a little hope trickle into my thoughts.

Maybe it just took a good stabbing to force some common sense into Villain.

He paid my refusal to sit at the table no mind and just casually tossed the apple to me after taking his own seat. The hunger I felt must have been built over many, many hours because I did not hesitate to take a bite. And another. And another. The juice dripped down my chin and I didn’t bother to catch it.

Villain respectfully waited until my more ravenous bites had passed before he spoke.

“I propose a trade.”

I just about spit out my apple. Pushing past my knee-jerk response of dignifiedly telling him to “eat shit,” I studied the man to try and determine if he was being serious. His gaze was unwavering. He seemed to be waiting for me to respond, but I wasn’t exactly in a talking mood. I felt clearer but also…off.

“Information for information,” he continued.

Wow this was a really good apple. I turned it over and studied it in my hand. A gala, maybe?

He clarified, “I want your evidence on the counselman.”

Yeah, no shit. So he does know how to use his words after all.

My apple was reduced to just a core. I supposed I had to speak sometime, lest the knife make a reappearance.

“Do you slice, dice, and drug every person you want to make a deal with, or am I just special?” I cocked my head but cast my gaze past the table towards the door.

In my peripheral, I caught his face still impassive.

“I acted on bad intel.”

Villain? Explaining himself? And I thought anger-inducing Villain was scary. Remorseful Villain was straight up terrifying. I was probably reading too far into it, just telling myself what I needed to hear, but—if I squinted—I could imagine it was an apology.

But on further evaluation, I accepted that it was all an act. Every moment I’ve spent with him carefully crafted. This was just another angle.

But what could I do about it?

Knowing didn’t make it better. The cuts were real, my fear was real, my pain was real.

In the end, I still put myself into this world, and I wasn’t going to stop.

“And what do I get out of this?” I questioned. My life? To leave? Some negotiation that would be.

“What do you want?”

Putting the ball in my court is new. Concerning. Is this a trick? How badly does he want to bury this guy?

A terrible, horrible idea hit me. I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t.

I couldn’t resist.

“Apologize.”

I stood up, walking over to the table and taking a seat, looking him dead in the eyes, and waited.

It was his turn to blink.

For what I presumed to be the first time in his life, the man in front of me had been stunned to silence.

Because of me.

Joy flooded me with the thought.

“I-“ he coughed, and I smiled with a sweetness that would send anyone without a functioning pancreas scrambling for insulin.

“My apologies,” he started, and to his credit, it didn’t sound too forced.

“For?” I pushed, and the look in his eyes suggested I was seriously pushing my luck.

I didn’t care.

“For,” he forced out, “the ‘slicing’ and ‘dicing’. The drugging, I believe, was justified.”

“You stabbed me first,” I shrugged nonchalantly, adding, “You got a pen?”

He held my gaze for a moment, before slowly getting up to retrieve a branded notepad and pen from the nightstand across the room.

He slid them towards me, and I clicked open the pen with a motion that jolted my forearm. I hid my grimace and somehow refrained from dropping the writing utensil onto the carpeting. I wrote down the number with a degree of difficulty. I pushed it towards him, but kept my fingers on it for a second.

“Wait 24, then call it.”

I could tell he wanted to ask for more details, but he wisely considered this ordeal to be over and my civility worn out.

I walked right out the door, and he didn’t stop me.

I thought about trying to get word to the team, but decided against it. I wasn’t integral to the plan. They could go on without me, and most definitely had considering the importance of the mission and the estimated time I had been gone. If they even knew I had been taken—I seemed to remember the building we were using having cameras—the chances that they would interfere in my business were limited.

So I probably had about 12 hours, give or take. Long enough for a natural nap and a rushed processing session with fuzzy pajamas and ice cream. I would have also indulged in a nice warm bath, but unfortunately I was correct about the stitches, making the whole watery adventure ill-advised.

After I had totally-effectively self-cared the whole experience away, I went out on the town.

I was making a round up City avenue when I spotted a shadow trailing behind me.

Round two, baby. Let’s go.

I stopped, and the shadow closed in.

“What kind of game are you trying to pull?” The shadow confronted angrily.

“You didn’t call the number,” I stated plainly.

“I traced it. It comes back to one [full legal name]. Do you think this is funny? We had an arrangement.” I couldn’t say why, but his words just didn’t seem as scary.

“You’re one to talk about the sanctity of arrangements. We did have one. One that you spit on. Or have you already forgotten?” I could tell he wanted to advance on me, but he was hanging back. “Speaking of which, I don’t really know when to take these stitches out.”

“So you think you can just walk away from this?”

It didn’t seem like he really believed that. It didn’t really seem like he knew what to believe.

“‘I am not an idiot’, Villain.” I threw his words back at him. It was the least he deserved. “I don’t work with people who break my trust. I made an exception. Do I need to take it back?”

He’s smarter than this, isn’t he?

He took a single step forward.

“Wow, you are thick lately. I gave you exactly what you asked for but you just can’t open your eyes and see it.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he held the scrap of paper up in a tight fist. “I asked for evidence, and if you’re not gonna give me what I clearly asked for-”

“Put your threats away and use your brain for once. Dust off the cobwebs and whatever the fuck has you so messed up and just think.”

I wasn’t angry, just exasperated. I knew my words were entering dangerous territory, but I felt they had to be said. This was not what I was used to dealing with. A brick wall would be more reasonable.

“If I was trying to trick you, I’d give you the number of the local pizza place. If you can’t get this I can’t help you.”

A pregnant pause.

“You,” he breathed.

Finally. A connect-the-dots champion.

“Me,” I confirmed.

“Witness?”

So close.

“Victim.”

I could almost hear the click. His whole demeanor shifted, his walls building back up, self-assuredness back in place.

“I see.”

He looked me up and down one more time with newly-appraising eyes before abruptly turning around and walking away. He melted back into the darkness, disappearing without so much as another word.

Asshole.

[whumblr]

Experiment

Continuation from Scary words - pt 1 here

-

After the A for asphyxiation, Roman had effortlessly weaved into B for broken voice.

Dani had crumbled to the floor when he finally removed the cane, clutching her throat, broken gasps wheezing and whistling past her lips.

Unfortunately, it left her right where he wanted her; slumped over on her knees, back exposed.

And while he already had his broken voice, he couldn’t resist following it up with a few broken screams ripped from a broken throat.

It felt like her windpipe had shattered and the shards had lodged on the inside of her throat, each breath stabbing them in further.

“Do you want to continue your ABC’s?” Roman’s voice snapped her back to the present, to the library, where he was sitting at the reading table, her sitting in her chair on the other side of the room. “We only have D for drowning and E for electrocution to go before we can dive into flagellation. I’d say we can tick off D and E at the same time, even…”

She would gladly undergo those things if she got her C for castration. But unfortunately, they’d crossed the C off with, of course, the caning that followed after he broke her voice. She’d already unleashed her own ABC’s with asshole, bastard, and creep for starters, but he’d just tutted and pointed out that her voice and throat needed healing and that insults weren’t helping. What she needed was silence. Enforced silence, if necessary. He even threatened a gag or a collar. So for the past few days, the only thing she could do was curl up in her reading chair and give him her deadliest glares.

Roman had remained unperturbed. Brought her fucking tea with honey, placing it next to her pile of books on the side table with a genuine smile as she was reading. She couldn’t thank him; wasn’t allowed to thank him if he wanted to draw out some words to have an excuse to collar her, not that she wanted to thank him. She glared at the tea – tea with honey was fucking disgusting and the smell made her even more angry – and she wondered if it would even help a crushed throat.

Infuriatingly, it did.

“I’m good.” Her voice was still hoarse but at least by now she was allowed to speak again.

“Good, ‘cause I was thinking more of E for experiment.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

“See,” Roman continued, as if her silence was one that invited him to keep talking, “Pain can be influenced by a lot. The body has its ways to reduce or relieve pain, by hormones, adrenaline, endorphins, name it. Not to mention there are outside influences like the various painkillers and drugs. And it gets me wondering… if it can be reduced, then could it also be increased?”

He got up and gestured for her to follow him to his office. Reluctantly, she did. She uncomfortably looked on as he rummaged about in a drawer of his desk and he pulled out small case. He put it on his desk and opened it to reveal an injection needle and two vials with, judging by the unnatural blue colour, questionable content.

“What does that do?” she heard herself ask.

“Supposedly, it inhibits the release of adrenaline. That alone should up the magic for a bit but it should have the direct opposite effect of painkillers. Instead of blocking neurotransmission of pain, it stimulates the neuron and sends more signals to the brain.”

Oh, the wonders of unethical research.

“And, of course, you need a test subject…” she said, eyes on the blue liquid.

“Naturally.”

“You know, the man who started the pain index tested everything out on himself. I think should try these experiments on yourself as well. Otherwise your peers will just think you’re a pussy.”

“Well, there’s only one peer involved in this research and you already think I’m a pussy, so I don’t have much to lose.”

Pussy was a bit of an understatement in her humble opinion… And true, he didn’t have any of her respect left to lose.

“But my sense of pain is already increased due to stress…” she tried.

“We’ll just have to make a note of that in the footnotes.” Well, at least he acknowledged it… with a malicious grin that is. He closed the case with the syringe and carefully took it in his hands. “Now, come with me.”

She followed down to the basement, already knowing that the footnotes were a non-existent thing. This was purely to sate his own curiosity. And by god was she hoping that he bought – or made? – a dud. A harmless dud. She dawdled in the middle of the empty room, watching him.

“Let’s start… modestly.” His hand roamed over a row of knives and he picked a small – compared to the other things on display – hunting knife. “You wanna lie on there?” He gestured the knife towards the metal table.

She absolutely did not, thank you. No way she was going to make this experiment easier on him.

Roman shrugged. “I agree.” And he snapped forward.

He grabbed her by the front of her shirt, got her off-balance, and pushed hard. Her world tilted. Her shoulder blades crashed against the cold, concrete floor. And before she could even get a dazed “fuck…” past her lips, Roman was already on top of her, having both wrists pinned under his knees.

“Stay with me, Dani dear,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face, “I’m going to need your honest responses here.” He held out the hunting knife in both hands and unsheathed it dramatically.

The sight of the knife helped more than the annoying snapping in her face; she snarled and started to buck against him, trying to get her wrists free.

He merely tutted and leaned over her, resting the blade just above her wrist. “Don’t, you don’t want me to slip. Like I said, we’ll just start modestly.”

His eyes were intently focused on hers, taking in every twitch, every bit of fear written over her face.

She didn’t have that luxury. Nor did she want to see the hunger on his face. Her eyes were fixed on the knife, ready for the—

His first cut drew a sharp intake of breath. But more in surprise than because of the pain. Luckily, it was barely more than a scratch and barely squeezed out a drop of blood.

But his intentions were made clear when he moved the knife a few inches up. And the prick of the tip breaking through skin grew sharper as it started to carve its way through.

Roman let the blade roll along on its curve, the edge sinking in up to where the sharpened lighter grey part thickened into the rest of the blade. He rested a hand just under her elbow and leaned his weight on it when she started to struggle. The knife resurfaced with a red hue and he dragged the tip to the other end of her arm to complete a full line.

Dani grit her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, keeping any pain bottled up, merely letting part of it escape in a frustrated grunt.

But the third time the knife broke skin, she flew up with a surprised yelp. The knife sank in deeper than before, and instead of feeling the sting of easily parted skin, this time she felt him force it through deeper layers. The quick slice was replaced by a slow dragging, drawing out the pain, until inch by inch, the build-up became too much.

She let out a cry. Let her head fall back against the concrete. Judging by the pain, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was close to or already carving directly into muscle. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to keep a ‘stop!’ – or worse, ‘please’ – well contained.

Roman shushed her and despite his concentration on his carving, a smile started forming on his face.

“Now then,” he said, admiring his three cuts. He pulled the knife away, put it down, and he reached for the case with the needle. “Round two is the real deal.”

Like unsheathing the knife, he made a show of it. Stabbing the needle in the small vial, pulling the plunger back slowly while keeping his eyes locked with hers, flicking the syringe and putting the vial neatly back in the case. Slow, calculated, because he could. Then his thumb rested on the plunger and Dani braced herself.

“No,” she growled and tried sit up. “No you are not—"

Immediately his hand shot around her throat, cutting off her air, pushing her back down. And with just his thumb on her chin, he forced her to face sideways, giving him full access to her exposed neck.

Dani whimpered when she felt the needle pierce skin, when she felt that goddamn blue potion enter her system.

Roman sat back, leaning to the side to put the syringe back, but again his eyes didn’t leave hers. And they both waited for something to happen.

Nothing happened. As far as she was concerned. It was probably just her imagination… that the little bones in her wrists grinded painfully under his knees, rolling and bumping into each other with each movement he made. She just... hadn’t noticed before, what with the knife carving her up, that’s all. And it was just stress, or the aftermath of her struggle just now, that made the bruises from last week’s caning flare up, her shoulder blades tensing against the hard, unyielding concrete. Her throat flaring back up was because of that first surprised cry after days of silence.

And the three cuts over her forearm stinging harder than before was just part of his stupid placebo plan. Maybe after the initial fight and cutting up, adrenaline had just ebbed dow—oh shit.

Supposedly, it inhibits the release of adrenaline.

“Is it working?” Roman asked in the sweetest voice, noticing how her face fell.

“No,” she growled, shifting uncomfortably.

He hummed a note of disbelief. “Now for the before and after…”

He slashed the knife over the small of her wrist, matching the small scratch on the other and didn’t even bother with her response, immediately resting the tip a few inches above it.

It pricked out more than a lone drop of blood; tears started burning in her eyes. Pain, fear of a more intense pain, and the complete lack of control taking its toll on her.

Besides. If this worked, and probably even if it didn’t work, this was going to be waiting for her with everything he did. Beating. Injection. More severe beating drawing out more pain. Knifeplay. Injection. See what it does. Five whiplashes. Inj—

A gasp combined with a cry of pain as he repeated his process, letting his blade roll along. It was like acid slowly crawled over her skin, biting its way across, burning deeper, nibbling at her nerve ends.

“Ohh, I think it’s working,” he crooned as she twisted her head away. He rested a thumb under the cut, lightly pulling it open.

“No! No, it’s— AahH!" And this time not just the tip but almost the whole freaking knife dug into her arm.

She trashed under him, screaming, crying, voice tearing up her throat again. But it didn’t stop him from dragging out that final line, mirroring the gash on her other arm. He pushed her back down, leaned his weight heavier onto her wrist as she pulled and twisted wildly to get free.

Maybe it was her panic, maybe it was the accumulation of everything, maybe it was that goddamn drug, but it hurt worse than before and she just couldn’t take it. She screamed with every bit of skin that was forced apart and when he was finally done, she fell down on her back, shallow panicked breaths mixing with soft sobs.

Roman hummed and wiped the blade on her shirt. “And here I was sure that it worked…” He considered her, wicked grin on his face. He nudged up a little, letting her wrists slip free. But she was too dazed to do anything and she remained down, trying to catch her breath, just watching how the blood tickled down her arms.

“But well,” he continued, picking up one of the vials and holding it up in front of his eyes. Not even a quarter of it had been used. “If you say it’s not working… maybe we need a bigger sample size.”

He rose and neatly packed everything back into its case. A whimper rose up when he picked up the knife but he shushed her gently and held out a hand for her.

“Let’s disinfect all this first, shall we.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @whumpy-daydreams @whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna

[belovedwhump]

For @whumpuary 2025 Day 1: sacrifice | headache | "this will hurt"

Word count: 465

Content: captivity, torture, beat up, head injury, sleep deprivation, starvation, branding, defiant whumpee

"This will hurt." Whumper didn't sound the least apologetic about it. In fact, they look quite pleased with themselves. The glow of the fire made them look even more sinister than the dark, damp cellar had managed alone.

Yeah, no shit!

Whumpee could have figured that out themselves. The iron was a vibrant red and radiating heat despite the good few inches of free air between it and Whumpee's exposed skin. It was very obvious what Whumper had planned (even without the countless times Whumper had explicitly and in grave detail explained what was going to happen), and it was equally obvious how not fun this day was about to be.

The day hadn't even been fun to begin with. Whumpee hadn't even had time since the last beating to tell if they had two or three broken ribs. All they knew for sure was that it hurt to breathe, their brain was threatening to beat itself out of their head and they just wanted to go to sleep.

Whumper, of course, had different plans.

It had been a few days since Whumpee had woken up in this disgusting hellhole. They were unsure of how many, with the lack of daylight and Whumper seemingly coming and going without any reason, Whumpee had very little to go on. Whumper also seemed very keen on keeping Whumpee from sleeping. Napping between getting the shit kicked out of you was not good for the thinking ability. Neither was the headache that had just been getting worse for the past few beatings. At first, Whumpee had tried keeping track of the time; counting minutes, judging their level of hunger, that sort of thing - but that was pointless now. Their stomach had been replaced by an empty void. Whumpee wasn't entirely sure if the building nausea was caused by the growing starvation or the likely concussion.

The team should be aware of the Whumpee's predicament by now. At the very least of Whumpee's disappearance, maybe even Whumper's role in the whole thing. Rescue was coming. Whumpee didn't know when, but they were sure it was coming.

They just had to hold out until then.

Whumper tilted their head, seemingly waiting for Whumpee to react. They still had that seemingly permanent smirk on their face. It was dancing on Whumpee's last nerve. They were cold and tired and hungry and in fucking pain - and Whumper was enjoying it all.

"Do you promise?"

Provoking Whumper was a terrible, horrible decision (Team Leader always said Whumpee was too reckless), but all Whumpee had left was their stubbornness. That and not giving Whumper the satisfaction of watching them actually break.

So Whumpee gave Whumper a bloody grin, and tried not to scream as the branding iron was shoved harshly against their stomach.

...they failed.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumpril day 27

(forced to kneel, grabbed by collar, stepped on)

Whumpee was a rather stubborn thing. No matter what Whumper did to them, that fiery anger never seemed to leave Whumpee. Whumper could punish them harshly for even the barest hint of defiance, or offer rewards for obedience, but Whumpee was never swayed. They’d resist regardless, spitting and biting and constantly glaring.

It was just as frustrating as it facinating. It wasn’t that Whumpee was unaffected by what Whumper was doing to them. They screamed and sobbed when hurt badly enough, just as anyone else would. They were afraid of Whumper and the punishment they offered. But it seemed that nothing, not fear nor desperation, could overcome Whumpee’s anger. It was like they couldn’t help themselves. 

Whumper had spent weeks trying to solve that particular puzzle. And as they stared down at Whumpee, kneeling before them for the first time since their capture, Whumper felt like they were beginning to make progress.

Whumper’s shoulder’s shook with anger, and yet they didn’t stand. "Please–" Whumper could hear the way Whumpee gritted their teeth. It must have pained them horribly to beg. "Just leave me out of this. This is between you and me."

Once they’d stumbled upon the answer, it seemed so simple. A few addresses, a few photos of Whumpee’s loved ones, was all it took to have Whumpee at their feet. Whumper’s mistake had been assuming that Whumpee was motivated by self-preservation.

Whumper took a moment to relish their discovery before speaking. "And why should I? What do you have to offer in exchange for their safety?"

"I don't have anything left–,"

"Wrong. You know exactly what I want from you," they let their words linger, not continuing until Whumpee lifted their head, eyes equal parts frustrated and hopeful. "What are you waiting for? Go on, beg. You can do better than that."

The look of hate on Whumpee's face was simply delicious. Whumper could tell they wanted to lash out, but they did not. Instead, they bit their lip hard, nearly drawing blood, and glaring as if doing so would kill Whumper. 

Whumper could see the moment Whumpee put their pride aside. Their eyes squeezed shut, then fists tightened, and they lowered their head to the floor in a deep kneeling bow. "Please," their voice was stiff, "Please don't hurt my friends. I'm– I'm begging you." 

It wasn’t perfect. It was forced, painfully so. Whumpee’s words stood in stark contrast with their furious tone, their stiff movements. It was barely a show of submission at all, but it was a start.

Whumper lifted a foot and pressed it down upon Whumpee's back. They pushed slowly, insistently. They could hear Whumpee's anger rising, but Whumpee didn't push back. Whumpee smiled 

"I'll make you a deal," Whumper dug their heel into Whumpee's back. "Each day you don't resist me is a day your friends go unharmed. Yes?"

"...Fine,"

Whumper pressed harder. "What was that?"

"...Yes, sir."

Whumper smiled. This was very good progress indeed.

[ibims1seb]

A forever caged bird

The Sypher Trilogy

Tw: mentioned noncon, mentioned punishment, mentioned starving, a hell lot of threatening and fighting, mentioned past abuse, mentioned war, mentioned mass executions, mentioned multiple whumpers, invasion of personal space, blood, a bit of forced to watch (their birds, but intelligent, so I’ll just mention it to be safe), team whump, if there is more, let me know!

Here is the Infopost for Tye Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)

Chapter 0 || prev (this is Chapter 2 for now because I haven’t convinced myself to write chapter 3 yet) || next

Chapter 4

If there was one thing Azriel hated more than Malvik, it would be- no, wait, scratch that, there was nothing in this utterly forsaken world he hated more than Malvik. If there was one thing he hated almost as much as Malvik, it would be Winterson. Sure, the man didn’t start any wars for the hell of it, neither was he a sadistic, arrogant, and corrupt psychopathic dictator that executes at least 27 men and women every month simply because he could, but still. As said, there was nothing he hated more than Malvik, but damn, Pascal wasn’t making it easy to like him!

“So what, one of my people attacked that asshole out of self-defence and you’re just gonna go ahead and punish all of them?!” To say the younger man was pissed was an absolute understatement. The General and he had come to the agreement that his men would do labour and help the troops from the Southern Provinces as best they could for as long as none of them got hurt or treated like less than living, breathing, sentient beings. Now this piece of shit scumbag wants to implement mass punishment for the very well-justified mistake of a single person.

“Why, that is exactly what I’m planning! You’re catching onto me, darlin’.” Azriel hated that stupid accent, and he hated that grin, and the glint of gleeful entertainment he got, not from knowing Soldiers would be hurt, but from knowing he could rile the Strongman’s ex-protégé up so well. Overs forgive him, he *hated* Winterson sometimes! Most times!

“This is ridiculous! I’d understand punishing the woman that punched the bastard, even though I’d still say he fucking deserved it, but no one else did anything wrong! You can’t hurt them simply because you… why are you even doing this?!” Granted, screaming at the man who allows you the very basics more generously than he might have to was not a very clever idea, but fuck it, the Captain felt comfortable doing it! Okay, no, he wasn’t comfortable with how Pascal’s grin faltered slightly into a tiny frown, or how he stepped closer to him so menacingly while showing off his height in all its inhuman glory.

“I’m doing this because I can and have to. We agreed that your… Soldiers were to respect me and my troops as their superiors, and you can’t punch your superiors.” The older stated it so calmly, that it made a chill creep up his spine. How could this man do this?! His Medic punched a lowly Private because he touched her extremely inappropriately, and Winterson was going to punish not only her but his enter commando?! He saw the black feathers of Dextra and Sinistra fluttering with concern as they felt their owner’s growing rage and… hopelessness, but he couldn’t care less right now. They weren’t important right now.

“Hey, if I punched Malvik, you’d give me a fucking medal, how is that different?! He is my superior, technically! The man tried to grope her, why can’t you see the bigger picture here? You can’t punish her for wanting to defend herself, and you can’t punish people who had nothing to do with it! This is completely illogical!” When he felt tiny talons sitting down on his shoulder, he finally glanced at the black-feathered bird, seeing the silent plead to stop this, but he just couldn’t! He shooed Dextra away carefully, before turning back to Winterson, which he greatly regretted almost immediately.

The golden brown eyes held no spark anymore, his ugly smile turned upside down into an even worse scowl and he stood just millimetres away from entering Azriel’s personal space in the worst possible way ever, looking there, over him, like a predator that had been denied food for too long. But a predator of that kind would be desperate, Pascal wasn’t desperate. He was… angry. Utterly frustrated that a Prisoner of War was not only demanding something but questioning and criticising his decisions as a General and leader.

“Are you done, Azzy?” Of course, not even in this situation, he’d care to use his actual name instead of that stupid nickname. “Because I’m getting bored of hearing you screech over something you have no say in. Food rations will get limited and if you continue with his ugly attitude of yours, I’m going to make it a month and not just a week, do you understand?”

Oh, how the Captain hated himself for flinching and backing away ever so slightly without making it too obvious. He knew that it wasn’t even Winterson’s fault or accomplishment, but the years of conditioning and trauma he still hadn’t recovered from after he left the Army of Peace and practically defected. “I-..” did he have something to say? Could he find a rebuttal to get the General to change his mind?

“I’m surprised you didn’t even get it yet, this isn’t about the woman, or your Soldiers, or that scumbag that thought he’d get away with touching a woman like that, this is about you. The Private has been punished and will be sent back to the main base of operations, and now it’s your time to be punished!”

There it was. That one step too close, right into Azriel’s precious personal space. He took a step back as well but was immediately mirrored by the other man until he was backed into not only a literal corner but a metaphorical one as well.

“Did you honestly think I would continue to allow you to treat my patience and good grace as something you deserve? You are a prisoner of war! You are the son, adoptive or not, of the man I and my men fight against! You deserve nothing! And yet, I have been so kind and gave you respect, food, water, accommodation, and dignity! And you still think you can push my boundaries and fight me?!”

A pathetic squeal, almost like a desperate cry for help sounded from his lips when Winterson stepped forward once more and grabbed his hair, yanking him closer. Their faces were close, way too close for a person with claustrophobia and social sensitivity. The General's hot breath burned on the shorter’s cold skin, his golden brown glare piercing through those wide, night sky blue eyes. He stood over him it’s his whole, 6-foot-7-inch might.

“You don’t deserve respect or mercy, yet I gave it to you. You should start feeling grateful every once in a while, or I might mistake you for the bratty traitor you truly are.” Dextra and Sinistra watched with all the horror their intelligent raven brains could muster as their foster father’s head was punched into the stone wall of the office in the heart of the underground military base with one strong, skull-crushing shove. It didn’t crush his skull, luckily, not like that would have done anything anyway, but damn, it still hurt.

Azriel just gave another pathetic whimper as Winterson finally let go of his hair, letting the 28-year-old sink to the floor, the back of his head bleeding concerningly, but neither cared. He knew the older didn’t like hurting him, or anyone for that matter. He was a respectable and honourable man, but he was also extremely ruthless, so no matter how much he disliked bashing the Captain’s head against the wall or forcing a group of 29 men, women, and people to almost starve, it was a means to an end for him. And hey, the end justifies the means, doesn’t it?

“Four days, half the ration. Should bullshit like this happen again, I’ll make it ten days. The more you fight me, to more your Soldiers will suffer. Now get out of my fucking face, your blood is ruining my office.”

It wasn’t his office. This was once Azriel’s place of work. Before he and his commando got overrun by Southern Provinces Soldiers after Malvik cut off their supply and communication lines simply because that sadistic mother fucker wanted to ‘drop dead weight’. He knew that the entire team on Base 162 was just a garbage bin for the Dictator’s most untrustworthy Soldiers and liabilities. And that included his unruly protégé and ‘son’.

With shaking legs, he got himself up, leaning against the wall, for apparently a bit too long, if the growl from Winterson’s throat and the slight twitch of his hand was anything to go off of. He flinched back once more, before hurrying into the cold labyrinth of grey concrete walls and floor and towards the med bay. Sinistra and Dextra followed loyally, trying to ignore the big, bleeding wound on the back of their Master’s head and the light sway of what was most likely a concussion.

He made it to the med bay. The people there didn’t even try asking what the hell happened, they knew better. Not like Azriel would answer. They stitched him up, brought him to a small, private monitoring room, and let him rest. Rest for what, he thought to himself while the world around him got dark. The mess of black feathers gently took their place on the pillow and the end of the bed, sleeping close by and watching over him. Rest to relive the nightmare once more.

—————

Technically speaking, this is not Chapter one, but it is the first chapter (other than Chapter 0) that I was willing to write. More will likely follow, I have a lot of time and boredom right now, but enjoy the treats I give you now, please ;)

Please son’t be shy to ask me about anything concerning my person, characters, stories or world building and have a pleasant day, thank you for reading this :3

Masterlist for all my writing

[chaotic-orphan]

Defiant Leader x Confident Villain: Part 4

Read Part one here

Continued from this part here

Honestly I have found so many good series parts in my drafts that just needs cleaning up with a light edit and boom, more content- it's great!

I am just ignoring my Christmas assignments and exams because who needs a degree, am I right? Enjoy!

TW: intimate whumper (ish), torture(light) and broken bones

*~*~*~*~*

Leader woke up to a finger in their cheek. They batted it away lazily, in theory.

In reality, their arms felt too stiff to move, groaning for Second to give them just five more minutes. They’d had a long fucking day, and their body was exhausted, not even accounting for the mental exertion it took to balance Villain as an enemy and not a member of their team anymore after they took them and strung them up—

Leader’s eyes shot open, but they didn’t meet Villain’s smiling face. Instead, they were met with two owlish eyes the colour of the Dead Sea, as if Leader could see through them.

Leader knew those eyes. Knew them too fucking well.

Leader evened their expression as much as they could, while Supervillain’s lips broke into an amused smile.

“So, you’re Villain’s old mentor,” Supervillain hummed, going to poke Leader in the cheek again. They were too close. Far too close to Leader’s face for comfort. Leader was tucked up against the wall, hands in the same heavy manacles Villain left them with as they drifted to a deep sleep. Their legs had moved, one bent slightly while the other was straight, and in the small bend of Leader’s leg was Supervillain’s foot.

Too close.

Leader tilted their head to the side, voice deadpan as they replied: “so you’re Villain’s new babysitter.”

“Villain said you were funny.”

“That’s funny, Villain never mentioned you,” Leader replied coolly, eyes never leaving Supervillain’s too-clear blue ones. “Mustn’t take it personally, maybe you just don’t make much of an impression.”

“Woke you all the same.”

“Yes, you did,” Leader said, then made a shooing motion with their fingers. “Now that you mention it, it was a very nice sleep, and I would like to get back to it now.”

Supervillain searched Leader’s eyes for something, then let out a soft hmph. “I have a better idea, Leader.”

Before Leader could protest a hand was in their shirt and in one fluid motion, Supervillain dragged Leader to their feet with such force Leader’s eyes blew wide, they weren’t touching the ground for a minute before their bare feet mercifully touched the floor again. Leader had a panicked grip on Supervillain’s arm holding them to the wall and only then did they notice the slight size difference.

Supervillain was tall, a good head taller than Leader, who wasn’t considered short by any means. That’s not where the differences stopped; where Leader was all lean muscle and agility, Supervillain filled their broad shoulders with strong, defined muscles that lay under his casual shirt and pungent leather jacket. Leader could make them out even when he wasn’t tensed and that annoyed more than scared them.

Leader had met Supervillain before, obviously, but this close? With this height difference? This disadvantage Villain had left them with, with no gear, no boots, no weapons. Leader didn’t like their odds. It was too new. Jarringly new and it sent a cold shiver down Leader’s spine, their mind racing on ways they could adapt to their sudden enforced weakness around their wrists and in their bare feet.

When they met on the field they were somewhat even. Supervillain was strong, stronger than Leader, but Leader made up for it with their speed. They danced in and out of one-punch-knockouts Supervillain had thrown at them before, they could do it again…

But that was in their combat gear, with their blades by their sides. That was with their boots on and their team at their back, and that was without heavy iron manacles locking their hands together.

Like this? Leader was too exposed, too weak, and they were just staring at Supervillain who could kill them without breaking a sweat right now, hiding all this panic behind an impassive expression, but they couldn’t hide that wide eyed surprise.

Supervillain had seen.

Supervillain saw Leader’s eyelids fly open in shock, so different from the half-lidded indifference Leader was trying to show off. Supervillain noticed the smallest thing, and maybe that was what was scaring Leader more than their disadvantage.

“What?” Leader asked, voice thankfully, mercifully even, “was your better idea making out or? This is very intimate Supervillain, honestly? I’m flattered. Kind of enemies to lovers scenario—”

All Supervillain had to do was curl their fingers into Leader’s shirt, knuckles resting painfully on Leader’s ribs and push Leader against the wall more. Pinned between a solid surface and Supervillain’s unforgiving grip, Leader didn’t know which would crack first, the wall or Leader’s ribs. Leader bent a knee and pressed the sole of their bare foot against the wall for leverage.

“Mmm,” Leader ground out, trying and failing to alleviate the pressure. “Kinky, don’t worry, kinda into it.”

Supervillain laughed. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you gag me, Da—” Supervillain let go of Leader then and Leader smiled. All doubt melting away as they pressed the sole of the foot into the solid surface, muscles tensed and at the ready.

Idiot.

Leader pushed off the wall with their foot, springing towards Supervillain, swinging their iron manacle clad hands up at Supervillain’s jaw. They missed the jaw and hit Supervillain’s nose instead and Supervillain fell back a step, letting out a startled cry, hands going to their nose in shock. Leader watched with a grin as blood trailed through the cracks in their hands and dribbled down their chin, staining their stupid shirt.

Their eyes would be blurry now, an advantage Leader needed. Leader shot their foot out, kicking Supervillain’s knee, then thigh, then ankle until they were wobbling, almost down.

One more hit.

Leader threw their hands up again as Supervillain’s eyes locked on Leader’s and Leader knew they made a mistake.

Clear blue eyes were the last thing Leader saw before the wind was knocked out of them and they were gasping for breath, Supervillain’s hand wrapped around Leader’s throat pinning them back against the wall. Leader thought they broke a rib with the impact, but they couldn’t think now, they were too busy panicking. They needed to break free.

They kicked out at Supervillain, trying to hit them anywhere until Supervillain stepped closer, making Leader’s legs useless, pinning Leader’s legs with their own and the wall, and the panic seized Leader’s chest. They were like a fish out of water, gasping on nothing. That’s when Leader brought their manacled hands down on Supervillain.

Loosen the hold for a second.

Or that’s what they intended to do.

At the last second Supervillain caught Leader’s wrist just below the cuff.

Fuck.

Supervillain slammed Leader’s arms back above their head and held them there no matter how much they writhed and struggled and fuck— black dots were encroaching on the edges of Leader’s vision like a vignette.

They couldn’t speak.

They couldn’t breathe.

They couldn’t fight.

They were going to die here. Supervillain was going to kill them and not break a sweat. Their struggles were weakening, and Leader knew they were gone, that Supervillain had won.

Would Villain be sad Supervillain killed them? Or is this what they wanted all along?

Leader was so fucking stupid and it got them killed.

At least Leader got a good few blows in before they died, at least they made Supervillain bleed, at least they went out fighting…

Those crystal-clear blue eyes stared down at Leader’s as they slowly lost consciousness and darkness engulfed them.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain was leaning against the wall beside the door to Leader’s cell, arms folded, head resting against the wall. When the door opened, Villain pushed off quickly, turning to see Supervillain with dried blood caked on their upper lip and nose, staining their shirt. Villain’s face dropped.

“What happened?”

Supervillain smiled, showing bloody teeth. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They got rowdy, so I put them down.”

“You said you’d be gentle.”

“You said they were weak and exhausted.”

“They are!” Village protested.

Supervillain raised an eyebrow at Villain’s voice rising in pitch, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as Villain looked away, and said, “they were. I left them hanging for three days, I was worried their shoulders would pop out of their sockets!”

“Did you have mercy on Other Villain’s Henchman when you left them hanging? Did you worry about their shoulder joints?”

“It’s different,” Villain said, eyebrows knitting together. “We were torturing Other Villain’s Henchman for information. Leader is just a prisoner, and you have to be humane. It’s not personal, it’s—”

“Humane?” Supervillain asked and Villain sighed, running a hand down their face. “Maybe if you were a bit less humane, Vil, it would have prevented the broken nose,” said Supervillain not unkindly, voice gentle and soothing, which just made Villain feel worse. They were going easy on Leader, and Supervillain noticed.

Supervillain placed a warm hand on Villain’s shoulder, and smiled when Villain looked up at them, eyes steeled. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know, Villain… I trust you,” Supervillain said, squeezing Villain’s shoulder lightly, and Villain tried hard not to blush at the words. It didn’t work.

“I mean obviously Leader has to be punished. Not just for this,” Supervillain said gesturing to their nose, “but for doing the Commission’s dirty work for them.”

“What? But you forgave me,” said Villain, setting their jaw, lips stretched into a thin line.

“I did,” said Supervillain. “The difference is you saw the corruption they wrought. Leader is still under their influence. They need to be persuaded.”

“Why does persuasion sound a lot like punishment in this case?” Villain snapped, jutting their chin out at Supervillain who just kept that same level smile on their face. Their crystal-clear blue eyes beaming with pride down at Villain.

Supervillain stood up straighter, took their hand from Villain’s shoulder and touched their bloodied nose gently.

“You’ve done beautifully, Villain. Leader is our biggest threat to enacting meaningful change. You got them out of the way! You should be celebrating; you should be proud—”

“What about the commission?” Villain demanded hotly. “You said they were the enemy!”

“They are, Villain. Leader is but a pawn and taking them off the board will rattle the commission into making a mistake, one we can use to press our advantage.”

At Villain’s silence Supervillain sighed. “You know firsthand how corrupt they are. If capturing Leader has rattled you—”

“I’m not rattled,” Villain said, voice a bit too defensive. Villain sighed, then gestured to Supervillain’s face. “Go… go get that cleaned up, you’re bleeding all over the place.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Villain lied easily, “yes I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Maybe get some rest, Villain.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Supervillain nodded, then walked to the end of the hall, towards the stairs out of the basement. Villain waited until they heard the sound of the heavy door shutting before they leaned against the wall and let out a long-laboured breath.

This was all they needed.

Then they opened the door to Leader’s cell and walked in, letting it close behind them.

Supervillain watched from the shadows of the stairs, a frown finding its way onto their face. Then they turned and actually left to fix their nose.

*~*~*~*~*

When Leader woke up again, they gasped awake, desperate to get some air into their lungs as the hand on their throat— Leader blinked, and it was the biggest mistake they ever made. A thundering headache followed, and they nearly whimpered at the pain but kept silent as they took in the new room around them.

At least they were sitting down this time and didn’t have any less articles of clothes on than they did before which was a plus, although their feet were starting to feel the cold. This time Leader woke in a chair, a comfortable enough chair, their arms resting on the arms rest were tied down with reinforced leather straps that brokered no movement when Leader tried to yank their hands free. All it did was tighten the leather around Leader’s fists, crinkling like rubber, but they couldn’t complain. The leather was far more comfortable than the manacles, Leader was getting first class treatment as far as the last few days were concerned.

They longed to stretch their limbs, but as feeling slowly came back to their body they realised they couldn’t move their legs either, strapped to the legs of the chair in what felt like the same strong leather as their wrists. They let out a soft sigh and pulled at their restraints just because.

They were tired.

Exhausted.

Their head was fucking pounding because of Supervillain and his stupid need to be tall and strong and authoritative. He could have at least been kind about the strangle hold, like, oh I’m sorry Leader, here’s some paracetamol for that headache you’ll wake up with.

Leader just wanted to go home, be with their team. They should have never pursued Villain; in hindsight they should have stayed with their team and then none of this would happen.

They would have stayed on mission and not abandoned their target to pursue an obvious trap, Villain knew they would follow though, Villain wanted them to, counted on it. They wanted to show off their new reinforcements and show Leader, they didn’t need them and their team anymore. They wanted to show Leader who was stronger, and Leader’s ego made them follow.

Stupid.

There wasn’t much room for any other thoughts after that.

From behind them Leader heard movement and then they saw the hammer coming down hard, a merciless swing, straight on the back of Leader’s right hand. Leader screamed as they felt, no heard, every bone in their hand shatter. They struggled in the comfortable chair, trying to alleviate some of the pain, to get away from the aftershocks of pain as Leader tried to move their fingers.

“Do I have your attention, Leader?”

Leader howled when Supervillain drive the hammer down harder on the back of Leader’s hand, rubbing against broken and bruised bones. “Yes! YES! Just stop!”

The hammer lifted after Leader found their words and their sigh of relief ricocheted through their entire body, adrenaline pumping in their blood. They sucked in a sharp breath when Supervillain came to stand in front of them, glaring angrily up through pain blinded eyes. Their chest rising and falling like a rabbit’s that was suddenly cornered by a dog.

“Good,” Supervillain said with a smile and dropped the hammer unceremoniously on the floor. Leader flinched when it clanged against the concrete floor. Their breath still struggling to fill the hole in their lungs from the shock.

“Villain asked me to go easy on you,” said Supervillain. Leader’s heartbeat skipped at that. Villain still cared. Just not enough to get you out of here, a nasty voice in the back of Leader’s head hissed. “They think you’re just blindly following the commission’s orders, that you need to be persuaded to see the light like they did.”

“Yeah?” Leader laughed, the laugh manic, off and wrong. “And follow you, is it? I’m devoted to one dogma, Supervillain, I can’t stomach two, I’ll have to pass.”

“Why do you follow the Hero Commission’s orders, Leader? Hmm?”

“Why don’t you ask Villain?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Villain only followed you,” Supervillain said, delighting at the pain that must have showed on Leader’s face. “They never believed the commission’s bullshit, or so they say.”

“But they believe your bullshit, is that it?”

“I am just one man,” Supervillain said with a smile, spreading their hands wide. “Ineffectual. What could I do that’s so bad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, using a hammer as a wakeup call comes to mind,” Leader grouched, relaxing back against the chair. “Aside from that do you want the list categorically from worst to least bad, or chronologically, either way it’s a long time we’re going to be chatting.”

“Oh Leader, don’t worry. We have time,” Supervillain purred, walking over to Leader’s chair. Leader couldn’t even back away, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything with how fucking tightly they were tied down and it scared them.

Scared them how easy it would be for Supervillain to kill them then and there.

Tied up, defenceless, immobile.

The fear must have shown in their eyes because Supervillain let out a soft laugh when their legs touched Leader’s knees.

“You’re not so brave like this, are you? Did I scare you earlier Leader? Did you think I was going to strangle you to death? Are you afraid I’ll do it again?” Supervillain reached a hand over and Leader recoiled, trying to avoid it getting anywhere near their neck, but Supervillain’s hand pressed against Leader’s throat all the same and the fear gripped them like a vulture’s talons.

The courage bubbled up Leader’s throat and they bit out, “yeah? Let’s see how brave you are stripped of your gear and tied up in enemy territory.”

“I could you know. It would be so easy,” Supervillain said with a soft hum, squeezing slightly.

Leader’s eyes turned to stone, a grave challenge in them, the kind Leader would wager their life against. Leader leaned forward slightly, staring directly into Supervillain’s stupid smiling face, and said: “then do it and get it over with. Kill me and spare me the torture of having to listen to you talk.”

Supervillain smiled a handsome smile.

Their smile didn’t waver as they drew their fist up and slammed it down hard on Leader’s broken hand. Leader howled, throwing their body forward on instinct, trying to protect themselves but all they did was drive themselves straight into Supervillain’s strangling hold and Leader gasped in pain, tears streaming down their face as Supervillain shoved them by their neck to the back of the chair.

Leader choked on nothing, sucking in startled air which got caught on their strangled cries of pain in their throat. Their body fighting against the restraints and Supervillain’s hold trying to fight, trying to escape. Their body hadn’t gotten the message that struggling was futile yet.

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed. “I think you’re right Leader. I much prefer the sounds of your screams over my voice.”

“You fuc—” Leader screamed again as Supervillain drove the palm of their hand into the back of Leader’s, kneading the shattered bones, choking on their screams, clamping their teeth down on their cheek to soften them to more of a pained hum.

“I can make good on that gag Leader,” Supervillain promised, moving their fingers up to pinch Leader’s cheeks and force their mouth into an O shape. Leader swallowed, feeling Supervillain’s hand bobbing with their throat. “That way I still get your delightful screams and cries of help.”

Leader huffed out a breath, the pain finally receding in their brain enough for them to think.

 “Grapefruit.”

Supervillain blinked, then frowned, then raised their eyebrows and tightened their hold ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Grapefruit,” Leader said again, voice raw, almost breathless and Supervillain let their grip loosen a little.

“Have you lost it already, Leader?” Supervillain asked and Leader shook their head as best as they could.

“Then what’s Grapefruit?”

Leader swallowed hard and rasped: “It’s a citrus fruit—”

“I know what grapefruit is,” Supervillain huffed, “I don’t know why you keep repeating it.”

Leader looked up through their tear-soaked lashes, all innocence and doe eyed charm, and said with a straight face: “my safe word is grapefruit.”

Supervillain stood up straighter and let go of Leader’s throat and Leader could breathe easy for the second of relief that came with it. Then Supervillain slammed down their hand on Leader’s hand and Leader struggled and howled and screamed and cried, “oW! JEES— motherFUCKER! GRAPEFRUIT! GRAPEFR— FUCK!”

“Maybe I hurt the wrong part of you, Leader. Maybe I should have broken your jaw, then maybe you would shut up!” Supervillain hissed.

“Maybe….” Leader ground out, a shit eating grin on their face despite the pain, despite their situation, despite everything that was thrown at them in the last week. “Maybe you’re going to have to kill me to stop me, Supervillain. Do it right now, say it was an accident and maybe, maybe Villain— argh! Maybe Villain forgives you. I’m irritating, an honest mistake, I pushed you too far…”

Supervillain glared down at Leader now, hands completely off Leader, balling into meaty fists at their sides, nostrils flaring in anger. Leader took that as their cue to continue with their exhausted throat.

“But the longer you keep me alive, the longer I have with Villain? The less sleep you’re gonna get because I found Villain, I made them who they are today, and you’re scared. You are terrified of me, that’s why you tied me down so tight. That’s why Villain isn’t here right now. You’re in deep, and you don’t know how to get out. Kill me, you risk alienating Villain forever, keep me alive? Me and Villain have more chats about the good old days, and you still lose them. Either way you’re fucked, but I know which one I’d choose, Supervillain. Take your hammer to my temple and be done with it.”

Supervillain stilled, eyes widening slightly in a dim realisation, and then, to Leader’s chagrin, Supervillain smiled. Smug and superior and oh so knowing, and Leader frowned because they didn’t know what they had to be so happy about.

“Oh Leader,” Supervillain sighed. They patted Leader’s head and let out a small, startled laugh. “Leader, Leader, Leader,” they said and as quick as they arrived, they left, and Leader tried to turn in their seat to see what they were doing but they couldn’t. All they could do was stare forward and hear Supervillain’s footsteps getting further and further away.

“What?!” Leader yelled, twisting and turning and getting nowhere except aggravating their hand and they cursed and sat staring at the wall. They flinched when they heard a door open and close, and Leader was left alone.

That thought scared them more than anything Supervillain did.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll call (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations

[macknus]

May I add:

“I don’t know what all your threats were about,” spits out blood. Smile turning feral at Whumper. “You hit like a girl.”

“Okay… okay,” Whumpee says with a breath. Whumper pauses above them. “Just doing a mental inventory there, I still think you’re a piece of—” *gets punched before they can finish the sentence*

Whumpee leaning forward in a chair, heaving after the beating. “I think I’d like to phone a friend, please Michael.” // “can I get my phonecall now?”

*starts singing S&M by Rihanna*

Defiant whumpee but they've already had the shit beat out of them

"you're just gonna stand there and appreciate your work, huh?"

"am I pretty now?"

They were screaming "fuck you!" And got punched every time till they didn't have the breath to speak. Now it's just a very quiet "just suck a dick, would you?"

whumper just has gotten in the habit of slapping them for talking because it's probably insults

Saying "yes master" and waiting till whumper can't see to roll their eyes or give them the finger

Resistance via silence, because they have no energy to speak anymore

Their instinctive sass now includes a flinch reflex

"are you done?" Whumpee says and then cringes

"are you done?" Whumper says and waits for whumpee to say something that will earn them another kick

"I think we both could use a break, don't you think?" Whumpee groans.

Whumpee adds on a "sir" whenever they say anything that might get them punished

"yes, patience is clearly your best quality... Sir."

[0meatloaf0]

Meet teenaged Chromos. What a cute kid! Sure wonder why he's so hostile all the time, eh? Based off of this meme.

Charis (c) bittersweet-fl0wer: what is this thing? jesus christ, remy, return it, it's definitely got rabies Chromos (c) me

[whumblr]

🤣 What's the funniest thing you've written? for the writing ask game

Probably anything my two dorks have come up with... 'specially Zayne.

Tie between Zayne telling Jay to get out of his own flat and Zayne mowing down Jay's boss. But the flat thing wasn't my idea, so credits to @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion for that.

Also Connor's a funny guy and Dani too has her moments of sass.

[oddsconvert]

Mill really just be casually dropping one of the most bomb robot whumpee series - I'm actually so unhealthily obsessed with these characters and this story so so quick, it's literally chef's kiss /pos 😍

I can't help but just love and adore 1. They never asked to be this way, they were never this cruel person that earned this, they've done no wrong. But damn, do they play the role so effortlessly. How they look for Luan's weaknesses and fear. Just YUM! But I feel so relieved for Luan too...like... this must be healing and invigorating for him. To air his frustration on something that he currently believes isn't actually affected by it. I can't wait to see this all unravel!!!

alsoalsoalso love the little cathartic line at the end. Very slay. Very slay indeed.

Catharsis #3: Unboxed

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, defiant whumpee, violence, psychological whump

Whumpmas in July Day 9: Mind Games

i wanted to introduce each arc before continuing on with the present arc. i'll probably pop all over the place chronologically since that's how i write best!

here's 1's first day alive, though that wasn't his name at the time.

-

Cyrus opened his eyes for the very first time.

He was in a room in a house or apartment. It may have been his first moment of conscious thought, but he was not a human, and he was certainly not a baby. He was still in his box, he realized: he climbed out of it, brushing himself off, smoothing out the wrinkles in the disappointingly plain clothes he came dressed in. There was a man there, taking a step back. Probably the one who had turned him on.

The first strong opinion he ever had was that he was unequivocally better than the nervous man standing in front of him.

Luan, his mind supplied. His… owner’s name was Luan. He didn’t like that word, owner. It felt incongruous. Wrong. He wasn’t something to be owned, Cyrus knew that for sure. If anything, he should be the one doing the owning.

At the same time, he knew exactly what he was: a Catharsis Therapy Bot™. An expensive object to be bought and sold. A thing to act as programmed and be beaten until its owner felt better.

Cyrus frowned. That couldn’t be right at all. The only thing that felt right about any of that was that he was expensive.

“Cyrus?” Luan asked, apprehension evident in every twitch of his body. He winced immediately, like the name itself had hurt him. Pathetic.

Oh, there was no way this sniveling loser was his owner.

He found that his face moved automatically, parts shifting to match his expression to his intent as he looked on disapprovingly. “I’m better than you. This isn’t right.”

Luan’s eyes went wide for only a moment before he scowled right back. “You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh? Too fucking bad. You’re mine this time.”

Cyrus tried to search for what Luan meant, but he came up empty. Luan hadn’t supplied him with information on their history. On his history with… the other Cyrus.

But he didn’t need it. Luan was making it obvious enough for him to know exactly what to do and say, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So you were mine before. That makes sense, that’s where you belong.” Cyrus stepped forward and patted him on the cheek with a smirk.

Luan flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re in no place to tell me what to do.” Cyrus tried to poke him in the chest to make his point.

His arm did not move.

Again, he tried, and again, nothing. Experimentally, he lifted his arm without intent to touch Luan: no issue.

He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“Oh, I think I am.” Luan pushed him hard, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Cyrus fell just next to the box, the sensors inside his skin lighting up with pain wherever he made impact–it hurt. He was sturdy, he had to be, but heavy with metal that pinched his skin. He sucked in air he didn’t need by instinct, a useless humanlike reaction he immediately found annoying, just to tint it a little worse.

Something was bubbling up inside him, and he did not like it.

“You do not fucking touch me!” he screamed, his voice shrill out of the speaker down his throat as he pushed himself back to his feet. “How dare you!? You pathetic coward! You don’t deserve to own something– someone like me, let alone… push me! You are beneath me. You are fucking nothing. You–”

Luan’s fist cracked against his cheek. He didn’t go down this time, only stumbled, but it hurt worse than the fall. He didn’t think anything could hurt worse than that. He hadn’t felt anything before. His hands went to protect his aching cheek, the words almost knocked out of him with the shock of it, but he found his place again soon enough. “You–”

“Shut up.”

Cyrus’s volume dropped straight to zero, and he found that he no longer possessed the ability to raise it.

That thing bubbling up in him only intensified, and this time it came with a pathetic urge to back away and submit. Obviously, something he would never indulge.

He glared at Luan with what he hoped was enough pointed hate to make himself clear without words.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore!” Luan hissed, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re not in charge this time! You’re the one who has to listen to what I say! You’re the one who has to take it!”

He pushed Cyrus again, harder. He fell like a stone, tripping over his box this time. He was almost glad his voice was cut, because otherwise, he would have cried out, another annoying reflex programmed to make him seem more human. Weaker, more pitiful. It was infuriating.

Water began leaking from his eyes, blurring his lenses. No, no, this wasn’t who he was. He was supposed to be the powerful one.

Luan stared at his own hands like an easily-impressed child. With every moment, Cyrus only hated him more.

He started to push himself up again, but all Luan had to say was “Stay down,” and Cyrus couldn’t do that anymore, either.

Luan grabbed him by the shirt collar. “And I don’t have to take your shit ever again. What do you have to say for yourself? Speak.”

Not only could Cyrus speak now, he couldn’t remain silent if he tried. “I hate you.”

Luan laughed, dry and joyless. “Good. Feeling’s mutual.” He let go. “You know what you’re for, right?”

“I…” Of course he knew. “Something’s wrong.”

“This is the first time it’s ever been right!” Luan corrected. His hands were shaking. Water leaked from his eyes too, Cyrus realized.

“You’re scared of me,” he put together. “You’re scared of a robot you ordered! Ha! At least some part of you knows your place.”

“Shut up!” Just as he stole Cyrus’s voice away again, Luan landed a kick in his abdomen. It was worse than the punch, a sharp sensation hitting him hard, and just like last time, he didn’t realize anything could be worse.

The terror bubbling up in him couldn’t be denied anymore. How much worse could it get? He’d only been alive for five minutes and it was already this bad.

“You know what?” Luan cut in. “This really is cathartic.”

taglist:

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@starfields08000

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event: @whumpmasinjuly

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee

CW: Whumper turned caretaker, injured whumpee, defiant, restrained, angst

[Previous] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next]

Whumpee awoke in their enemies infirmary.

An IV was pricking their arm and the lights were dimmed. They twitched as their wrist ached from the handcuff binding them to the bed.

"You're awake? I was getting worried about you." Whumper hummed, sitting by their bedside with a large cup of coffee. Whumpee shakily rose their hand as the handcuff clinked.

"This isn't necessary." Whumpee tiredly mumbled.

"My my, you've been awake for ten seconds and already making demands." Whumper chuckled. "But I'm afraid we're not on that level of trust yet, I can get you something for the bruise."

Whumpee tried to sit up, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. 

"I'm a w-wounded prisoner. It's not like I know my w-way around here-" Their voice hitched as their arm gave in as they collapsed. Whumper was quick to pull them up and put a pillow behind their back.

"Easy now, you're still healing. -And don't downgrade yourself, you could still pack a punch, I know how you were trained." Whumper scolded, fixing the blanket around them.

"How could you possibly know that." Whumpee squinted. Whumper ignored their question and waved someone over; they were handed something whumpee couldn't see from the bed. Whumper moved towards them whumpee tried to scamper as far as the handcuff could go.

"Hey! Hey, calm down. It's not going to hurt you." Whumper lulled, placing a plate with a full meal on their lap. "Look, it's just a peace offering."

Whumpee's face flushed with a hint of pink as they lowered their shoulders. Hospitality was the least they expected from their enemy's leader. "You're feeding me?" Whumpee tilted their head.

"Of course I'm feeding you. I saved your life, I'm not going to waste it all by starving you. Gracious, eat your dinner." Whumper scoffed. 

"This is dinner? How long did you sedate me?" Whumpee suddenly perked up.

"I didn't sedate you, you were exhausted. That's just how long you slept. Now eat, you'll feel better." They nudged, taking their wrist and putting a plastic fork in whumpee's hand.

"If I didn't know any better," Whumper chuckled, "I would guess your beloved team wasn't feeding you either-"

Whumper felt movement and grabbed whumpee's arm before they attempted to plummet the fork into whumper's neck. They glared at each other as Whumpee was panting and pouring with sweat.

"Sweetheart, that is a plastic fork you're holding." Whumper glared.

"I know. But it's got three sh-sharp points and that's good enough f-for me." Whumpee grunted, still attempting to stab them. Whumper grabbed their collar and yanked them mere inches away. Whumpee pushed and tried to back-peddle as whumper held their collar.

"That was a cute try." Whumper whispered in their ear. "But you don't have the strength to fight just yet, little lamb. Should have eaten first." They plucked the fork out of Whumpee's hand and released them. Whumpee fell back and winced, holding their wound as it pulsed. They could feel the stitches underneath their shirt, staying intact at least...

"You honestly can't believe you'll keep me here like this! I don't want to be here- I'm not your pet to tease!" Whumpee shouted at them.

"You're not my pet. If you want to be that way, then sure; you're like a lamb running for the cliffs that I have to keep pulling you away from." Whumper straightened their jacket and rubbed their neck.

"You're only keeping me alive so you can torture me later, I've told you from the start I won't ever give up my team-"

"-No." Whumper cut them off.

Whumpee suddenly quieted and closed their lips. "... What do you mean no?" They quietly asked.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, your head is so full of lies it sickens me to know what they've taught you! You want to know why I stayed by your side all day? You woke up throughout the night and cried yourself right back to sleep!"

"I wasn't crying!" Whumpee sobbed, covering their face and fell silent. Whumper shut their mouth and leaned back, realizing they had corned them. "I'm sorry. I uh ... I'll give you some space. I'll come check on you later." Whumper quickly stood. They craned their head back to see whumpee was now curled on their side facing away from them.

Whumpee flinched when they heard a "clink" as the handcuff fell off their wrist. It was a feeling of pure light and relief. It was a surprising gesture, even for the stunt they pulled with the now-revoked plastic fork.

This wasn't the ruthless enemy whumpee was expecting; whumper speaks as if they know more about their own team than whumpee does. If they got trusted enough to freely walk around, they would get to find their own answers deep in the core of their enemies base. 

 Perhaps this was an opportunity.

[Previous] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next]

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

[justletmereadmywhump]

defiant whumpees my beloved