#eating whumper

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 9

Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days / Polaroid / Mistaken identity / "You're a liar" I used the alternative list for "Reluctant Whumper"

"Please I don't want to do this to them", Whumpee shakily held onto the crowbar.

"You can pick another weapon, but we all know they deserve it, you can do it", a masked man stood behind them watching.

Whumpee eyed Whumper, who was tied to a chair in front of them. Whumper yelled through their gag.

The masked man glided towards Whumper. He grabbed Whumper's chin and pulled their face up to look in his eyes.

Whumper's eyes were wide in fear, they breathed heavily into the gag.

"You deserve everything you are about to receive, I've watched for to long before I could act", the masked man dropped Whumper's head, they looked back at the terrified Whumpee, "Whumpee will get their revenge, one way or another", they sighed.

"Okay go to town", the masked figure stepped aside.

Whumpee looked at Whumper, then at the crowbar, "I-I can't", the crowbar fell to the ground with a heavy klink, "I'm not them, I can't do it, I'm sorry."

The masked figure knelt down and cocked their head to the side. They studied Whumpee for what felt like eternity.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?", Whumpee looked at them, "you said you've been watching for a while, but I've never seen you before."

"Some have called me an entity, a watcher. I prefer magician myself. You called me to you a while ago, you never realized, but you've felt my presence", as though he knew what the next question was, "I had to wait for my strength to gather before I could offer aid, I am not from your plain of existence my power isn't as strong here and it takes a while."

Whumpee whimpered, "I remember a ghostly figure once."

"There is no need to be afraid of me, I was called to you because you needed my help. I am your protector now", the masked figure stood back up, "I almost expected you to not be able to hurt Whumper, I wanted to know for sure though."

Whumpee looked at Whumper, then back at the masked figure, "I can't, I'm not Whumper. Causing more violence to an already violent situation will not bring peace."

A chuckle came from the masked figure, "you will be an honor to protect, so pure. Even in the face of evil you offer forgiveness and peace."

Whumper thrashed in the chair bringing their attention back to them.

"Unfortunately, I can not let you go unchecked and unscathed", the masked figure sighed, "you are to dangerous, I'm sure by the time I'm done with you, you will wish they enacted their revenge, not left me to do it."

"Whumpee I will enact your revenge, I will cause them the same grief and pain they've caused you. They will feel how you felt for so long", the figure picked up the crowbar, "these earthly weapons mean nothing to me, but I have to conserve as much power as I can."

Whumper looked at him terrified.

"Please no", Whumpee pleaded.

"I'm sorry, I know it's horrific to your tender soul, you do not have to witness it", the masked figure sighed, "if we left them like this they could get free and hurt someone else. You have to let me."

Whumpee reluctantly looked at Whumper, then at the figure.

"They could hurt others?", Whumpee looked up sadly, not realizing that truth sooner.

"Yes."

"Are you going to kill them?", Whumpee sobbed.

"You do not have to witness it, you can go wait a few rooms over", the masked figure stated again.

"Your not saying no", Whumpee sobbed more.

"I am bonded to you, I am not able to lie to you, but i don't have to tell you whats going to happen", the masked figure crept closer to Whumper, "I'm starting in 10 seconds, I suggest you leave now. I will join you when I am done."

Whumpee whimpered and glanced at Whumper. The masked figure was standing in front of him now.

Whumper shot a terrified glance at Whumpee, then looked back at the figure. They screamed again into gag.

Whumpee watched the crowbar get raised. They darted out of the room as fast they could. They heard the crowbar make contact. They heard rhe scream.

Whumpee hid in the living room and buried themself under blankets and pillows. The figure both comforted and terrified them. What did they mean by protect and not being part of this existence.

They couldn't hear what was going on though so that was good.

Back in the room, Whumper squirmed as the crowbar came down again.

The masked figure searched the room for Whumpee, "I had hoped they would leave so I can show my true form, I mustn't allow them to see that side of me." The figure removed the mask to reveal their face.

Whumper weakly looked. The horrid face wasn't even a face, no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Whumper screamed.

The face morphed, "I take on the form of what scares you most, that is why I wear the mask", the figure chuckled, "hmm, this figure haunted your nightmares when you were young. I'm glad this is who will kill you in the end."

Whumper screamed again as the figure came closer.

"I'm going to eat you now, that way you are completely removed from this existence", the figure removed the gag.

"No don't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry", Whumper thrashed.

"It's to late to apologize."

Whumpee jumped when they heard a loud scream.

They peaked out of the blankets to see the masked figure standing at the doorway to the room.

"The deed is done, they can not hurt you anymore", the figure bowed, "any request for me."

"Can I ask a question?", Whumpee shook.

"Yes of course", the figure lowered itself to kneel, "you may notice, my form is my hazy now. I am but a shadow in this existence, it takes a lot of my energy to materialize."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry, but I'm comforted by your presence, but still scared of you. What are you here for?"

The figure sighed, "about a month ago, you asked for help in a way that invoked my presence to you. Unfortunately my presence isn't the best here, so I had to wait to gather strength to aid you. I tried my best to comfort you though. I'm bound to you until you ask me to leave, I will take the form of your shadow, and go with you."

Whumpee looked at them confused and lost for words.

"I will explain more later", the figure stood and cautiously approached Whumpee, "you must rest now, you have been through a lot in a short time. Rest now."

"What do I call you?", Whumpee watched the figure.

"You can call me magician, everything will be alright. I promise to take care of you."

Taglist: as always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

[letitbehurt]

Whumpee being manhandled into restraints:

Shoved up against a wall and handcuffed.

Pinned to the floor and handcuffed.

Fighting for each limb as they’re forced down on a table, slowly secured by leather restraints.

Overwhelmed by multiple Whumpers, each one working to subdue them.

Yanked back by their hair so a collar or rope can easily be fitted around their throat.

Pinned while in combat (double points for being caged against a wall or trapped in a chokehold)

Improvised restraints like belts, sheets, or clothing when Whumpee won’t be still enough to retrieve proper ones.

Manhandled in a hospital bed, held down for the duration of a procedure.

Injected with a chemical restraint, a sedative or numbing agent that quickly bleeds the fight out of them.

Struggling as a muzzle is wrestled over their head and secured.

A blow to the head that knocks Whumpee out or makes them too dizzy to fight anyone off.

[loonybun]

Check Up

hi. guess who wrote. aren’t you proud. anyways these are like. my favorite ocs. if you’ve known me for very long you know i will never shut up about them ever and have character blogs because god they’re in my brain constantly

contains: med whump/lab whump (not sure which this would classify as. sort of in the middle there.), creepy/intimate carewhumper, doctor whumper, does vian deserve his own mention here yeah he’s a warning all by himself, condescension, restraints, recapture, former living weapon whumpee, magical/sci-fi setting, references to addition and drugs, mentions of brainwashing and memory erasure, betrayal, needles, implied self harm, self harm being weaponized.

i think that’s all but let me know if i’m missing something. this one’s a bit of a doozey. fun for the whole family.

——————————————————

“You look like you slept well.”

He was barely even awake. The room felt like it was spinning, the all too familiar fluorescent lights inducing a dizzying nausea.

The shock of the cold metal on his back forced him into reality. Shit. This was happening. There wasn’t any way out of it. Not an obvious one, anyways.

Koi’s eyes drifted back over to the doctor, who greeted him with a soft smile. Right. Why was he here? Why didn’t he have—

“I took off that little cuff of yours, hopefully you don’t mind. I’ll probably have to answer for that later, but oh well. I figured you’d want to enjoy your last few moments of lucidity.” He murmured, pity crossing his face. “I know you’re not really capable of what they think you are. Poor thing. They think you’re a killing machine! A terrorist! It’s a little funny, actually. I mean, you’re…”

His eyes trailed over Koi for a brief moment. “…Harmless. Completely harmless like this.”

“—I mean, I’m not a big fan of killing people. Kind of why I was trying to avoid this place.”

“Yes, yes, and that’s exactly my point. I guess capable isn’t the right word, is it? I mean, you’ve done it before. I suppose what I’m trying to insinuate is that you’re just unfit to be the monster they’re going to try to break you into.” The doctor hummed, gently ruffling his hair.

“…It’s nice to see you again, by the way. I really did miss you. I know we were never close, but— You were always one of my favorites.”

Koi scoffed. “Enough of a favorite to let out of these restraints? C’mon, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“…You know I can’t, Koi.”

“…Right.” He went quiet for a moment, letting the air grow heavy. Well, might as well rip the bandaid off. “So uh… What are they gonna do?”

And just like that, he was back to his giddy state. “Oh— Yes, I forgot, you like it when I explain these things.”

“You’re uh, not annoyed by it, right? I know a lot of the scientists were and uh—“

“No, no! Not at all. I appreciate your enthusiasm. I always have. People here are just so incredibly impatient.”

“…Oh, uh, thanks. Alright, then yeah, give me the rundown.” Koi already had a good idea about what was going to happen next. They’d throw him in a nice, big cell, give him the whole “You have a purpose here” spiel, and then keep him in there until he either gave in or escaped— not like the former would ever happen.

Vian’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he began to explain. “Well, you see, we figured that since you’re going to be here for a while, we might as well work out that little… Issue… With your magic.”

“And then they’ll expect me to join ‘em again?”

“…Well— Actually, you won’t have much of a say in the matter. They’re planning on wiping your memories. It’ll be like your little runaway incident never happened. You won’t remember the experiments either, of course. None of those silly traumatic things.”

Shit.

“Until then, I’m supposed to keep you hooked up to an IV containing a drug I’ve developed. Just something to keep your mind in more of an agreeable state. You won’t lose your ability to think, of course, you’ll just… Struggle with comprehending those thoughts. I like to say it’s like water slipping through cracks— Nicer imagery leads to a much less stressful experience.” Vian smiled cheerfully, giving Koi a little pat on the head.

He felt sick. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. “—Wait, wait, wait. Can’t we talk this out? I mean— You don’t really want me to lose my memory, right?— What about— What about my friends? My life?”

At that, the doctor chuckled. “Koi, we should really move on with the examination. I have a job to do… Maybe if you’re good, we can talk a little more about your options afterwards.”

Despite the bile in his throat, Koi nodded. Maybe there was a chance that the doctor would take pity on him. He just had to get through this.

Vian lifted up the thin sleeve of his hospital gown, staring down his arm while he fixed a cuff on his shoulder.

“…Now, I know we didn’t give those to you.”

“What?”

“Those scars.” Vian traced a cold finger along one of the countless cuts lined over the withered skin. “Those are new. Lined up so poorly as well. Goodness, you really haven’t been doing well for yourself, have you?”

Koi shot him a small glare that quickly faded into something a little more pitiful. He had to remember what was at risk if he fucked this up.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Apparently having a guilty conscience has consequences.”

The doctor’s eyes flickered with mild amusement. It was an unsettling look on him.

“We both know that’s not what this is.”

“Didn’t you say you had a job to do?”

The pressure on his arm began to increase, then released all at once. The cuff went off just as quickly as it had been strapped on. Vian stared at the readings for a brief moment, then looked back at his patient.

“And who are you to say that a wellness check wouldn’t be part of it? I won’t tell, I promise. Now, you were always good with needles. Are you alright if I draw some blood?”

Koi nodded hesitantly. It would be better not to argue with the only person who might be willing to lend a hand to him. He wasn’t that stupid. It’s not like he had many other options.

The needle sank into his skin, and he reflexively let go of the tension in his body. He could have sworn he saw Vian smile at that.

“Good. You’ve always so good with these things. I believe that’s most of what I needed— We’ll do a drug test too, just to be sure. You’d be surprised hearing all of the rumors some of the scouts have come up with about you. Meaningless gossip, really. They claim you’re some worthless street junkie now.” Vian hummed, brushing Koi’s bangs out of his face. “Then again, I wouldn’t be totally surprised. You’ve been hung out to dry. We can lose ourselves, sometimes.”

He couldn’t help but lean into the soft touch. If it weren’t for the backhanded conversation, he probably would have felt genuinely relaxed.

“Yeah, right. I’ve totally got the spare change to shell out for that.”

“Mhm... Like I said, meaningless gossip.”

He needed to break the silence in the air. He could practically feel Vian’s gaze on him. Cold and scrutinizing. “Well, uh, is that all you needed me for?”

“Oh— Yes, we should be done for now. You said you wanted to talk about your options, didn’t you? This would also be a decent time to ask me any extra questions.” The doctor snapped his eyes back to focus, a smile quickly reappearing on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds good. Uh, so is there any way I can convince you to help me? I mean, I know we were never friends, but—“

“You’d like to be. I know.” He didn’t even let him finish. “You mentioned that once. It stuck with me for a while… I think I’d like that too. You’re one of the few people I can actually tolerate here.”

“So uh… You’re willing to get me outta here?”

Vian’s eyes narrowed, and his grin faltered. “…Well—“

“Well what?” He snapped.

“You don't really have options here, Koi. Let’s just think about this for a moment. I could let you go right now, send you on your way back home… And for what? For you to be miserable the rest of your life? To keep this up?” He gestured towards the lines across his arm. “You lived in a rotting shed. If anything, keeping you here is a favor.”

His blood ran cold.

“You can’t be fucking serious— Vian, please— I… I can’t stay here. They’re gonna make me hurt people. I can’t do that again.”

Vian’s sympathetic expression was looking faker by the minute. He ruffled his hair, earning him a desperate expression. “…Oh, yes you can. The war’s been over for quite some time. It’s not like you’d be used very often anyways. Don’t you want to feel like a hero again? Didn’t you like that?”

Koi began struggling against the metal bands holding him down to the table, desperately thrashing back and forth. “I— I won’t forgive you if you do this. You know that, right?! Didn’t you say you wanted to be friends?”

“I did. And I still mean it. You’ll soon find that you won’t remember any of this, and you’ll be more than happy to spend time with me.” He hummed. “Let’s be honest, sending you back would be plainly unethical! It’d go against my oath. You’d have a fresh start here… There’s really not a downside.”

“Stop— Please—“

“…I think it’s about time to hook you up to that IV. Thank you for your time, though. I can’t wait to get to know each other all over again.”

[the-broken-pen]

“I don’t need you.”

It sounded less grounded than the villain had wanted it to. It sounded like something someone had told them to say, and they were just repeating it with half hearted determination. They said it again, “I don’t need you.”

“No,” the hero agreed. They were grinning. “You don’t.”

The villain floundered. They, in all honesty, wanted a fight. To prove something, they supposed. That they really didn’t need the hero. That they weren’t in the wrong, here. “What?”

“I said,” the hero said slowly, and the beginnings of a grin curled at the edges of their mouth. “You don’t need me.”

“I don’t need you,” the villain repeated, and the hero nodded encouragingly. It just made the villain want to hit them.

The hero lounged against the doorframe, halfway in and halfway out of their apartment. And truly, that was the worst bit of it all—the hero wasn’t showing up outside the villain’s house, or driving by the villain’s work to see if they truly looked happier without them. But the villain was.

They wanted to scream, and kick, and throw plates onto the ground.

‘Leave me alone.’

But they couldn’t say that, because the hero had. They had cut contact and blocked numbers and ignored the villain’s car as it went by. Still, the villain felt haunted. As if they would never be clean of the hero, parts of their soul forever dirtied by it all.

The hero’s smile, and the way their voice sounded when they knew the villain would cave to their wishes.

They just wanted the hero to—

“Leave me alone.” It slipped out against their better judgement. From the way the hero’s grin widened, they knew it had been the worst thing they could have said.

“Darling, I have,” the hero said, their tone saccharine. Pitying. “You’re the one outside of my apartment.”

It felt like being burned alive, the frustration of it. The way it rose in their chest but had nowhere to go, leaving them shaking with nothing and everything trapped under their tongue.

“That’s not what I meant and you know that—“

“What, you miss me that bad? I thought you—“

“Shut up,” the villain snapped. The hero raised an eyebrow.

“It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?” They sounded pleased.

“It’s not,” the villain protested.

“I told you, you don’t need me.”

“I know,” the villain grit out.

“But you want me.”

Something in the villain’s brain stalled.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need me. You never have,” the hero said it like it was a fact. “You want me, though. Even as the sound of my name burns you, and the memory of me rots in your mouth, you’re going to want me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” The hero’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can go out to every bar in this city, kiss a hundred people who look like me and get just drunk enough to forget you’re not mine anymore—but you’re never going to stop missing me.”

The hero knew, of course they did, how hard the villain had tried to forget it entirely. The disaster they had become trying to be clean again.

“No matter how many shots you take to block out the memory of me, you’ll always be mine.”

“You’re insane,” the villain finally managed. The hero simply tipped their head to the side in acknowledgement. “That’s not-what’s wrong with you—“

“You’re the one who misses me.”

It stung, deep in the villain’s stomach. It took them too long to remember how to breathe—too long after that to think of what to say.

“If I’m lucky, I won’t ever have to see you again,” their voice quivered, slightly. “But knowing us, the next time we meet it will be in hell.”

The hero laughed and closed the door in their face.

The villain blocked them. Avoided the side of town the worked in. Moved three cities over.

It didn’t matter.

The villain could still feel the hero under their skin.

Later, whenever someone would ask, “Have you ever been haunted?”

The villain would think back to the hero.

And say, “Yes.”

[the-whumpening]

The Pet Tiger, #10 [nsfwhump AU]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: nsfwhump, emetophobia, drunk/hungover against will, choking till passing out, medical inaccuracies, GRAPHIC EXPLICIT NON-CON, explicit scene of and reference to r*pe and uncensored use of the word, victim blaming, dehumanization, gags, restraints, branding, treated as a pet/sex slave, violence and threats, pet whump, forced use of buttplug, forced (ruined?) orgasm, forced chastity device, blood, magic whump, AGAIN: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

(Another extremely long chapter, around 4.5k! This is EXTREMELY GRAPHIC. Please heed this warning: if you do not want to read a scene mostly focused on a detailed description of an assault, close this and move on. The next chapter won't be nearly as brutal but there will likely be similar chapters in the future, so I understand if anyone wants to drop off reading this series. No hard feelings! If I've missed tagging something important, please let me know so I can fix it.)

-

10: His

As the heavy doors of Ozmund’s chambers slam closed behind Ash, his knees thud to the hard wooden floor. His head spins—he’s not sure he’s ever been this drunk before, and certainly never so fast. He tries to steady himself on his hands and catch his breath, but Ozmund yanks him by his leash back to attention.

During the silent march away from the party, Ash had imagined Ozmund was fuming, just waiting to be alone before lashing out at him. But now, as he drunkenly dodges Ozmund’s scowl, it seems Ozmund has once again composed himself. He slips a finger through Ash’s collar and bends to meet his face, his breath cool on Ash’s flushed cheeks.

“She got you drunk, didn’t she? Stupid little cat,” he snarls, his low voice warping in the fun-house-mirror of Ash’s intoxicated brain. It takes all Ash’s concentration to nod, though the movement only makes his dizziness worse. Ozmund sighs through his nose and narrows his eyes. With a blink, they begin to glow a rich emerald green, and he jams his palm to Ash’s forehead.

Ash shivers and gasps; shock startles his system as if a bucket of ice-cold water was suddenly dumped over him. His drowsy eyes snap open, and he can suddenly think clearly and control his body once more—he’s immediately sober again. A spike of pain pierces his head, though, and his senses are quickly overwhelmed. Each lamp and candle flame burns his eyes; every slight rustle of his clothes and shift of his body pounds in his eardrums; Ozmund’s heavy fragrance stings his nose and swirls his stomach until—

He retches, spitting up wine-stained bile onto the polished floors.

Ozmund takes half a step back to avoid the mess, dropping Ash’s leash and muttering, “Pathetic.” He nudges Ash’s chest with his boot, pushing him off balance and forcing his gaze upward as he falls onto his back. “And I suppose you want me to clean you up, too, don’t you? Ungrateful beast.” With a wave of his hand, Ash’s sick disappears from the floor and his own face; even his mouth feels clean, though exceptionally dry.

Is this a hangover? Ash wonders as his head continues to throb. He’s never had a hangover before—he’d only ever seen Kane get them, but they’re such a lightweight that it takes very little to send them stumbling and slurring in the first place.

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought; before he can right himself once more, Ozmund drops his shoe down on Ash’s chest. His heel grinds into Ash’s bruised ribs, pressing a breathless howl of pain out of his lungs.

“Quiet,” Ozmund commands, and Ash’s throat cinches closed against his will. He strains to breathe fully, silent whimpers gasping through his lips against the tightness in his throat and the pressure on his chest. “Three times tonight, you’ve failed to uphold your end of our bargain. Three times, you’ve disobeyed or humiliated me.” His foot shifts forward, sliding to lodge the toe of his boot beneath Ash’s chin and hovering just barely above his neck. “I gave you every opportunity to comply. I instructed you perfectly—I even let your poor manners slide earlier today. But clearly, you haven’t learned.”

Ozmund squeezes his fist. As he does, the thin collar around Ash’s neck shrinks tighter and tighter, nearly burrowing itself into his skin. His vision flickers, black flecks of blindness fluttering around his peripherals before blotting out entirely; his hearing, too, fades into a high-pitched ring, soon replaced only with silence. In the dark and silent void, all Ash can take in is the scent of boot polish and leather, before even that disappears as well.

As he slips into the dizzy embrace, an errant thought creeps into his mind: Am I . . . dead?

-

Ash reawakens with a coughing gasp. His arms and shoulders ache, but his hands catch with a metallic clinking when he tries to lower them.

He blinks against the blurriness in his vision and struggles uselessly to move. What—?

“Be still, pet.” Ozmund’s voice startles him, closer than he expects. “You’ll only hurt yourself if you struggle.”

Ash turns his head to the side, relieved to find the collar has once again loosened to its normal size. But as his eyes focus, that relief evaporates as quickly as it came. Finally, he can see his predicament and make sense of the aching in his limbs.

Ozmund stands beside him, securing a length of chain to the headboard of his bed—the same headboard Ash’s manacles have been looped around. Ash tries to feel his surroundings with his body, though every slight twist causes the thin chains to dig into his wrists. Beneath him is soft, plush bedding, propping his hips up in an obscene display. He clenches his legs to cover himself—even the scant, nearly-translucent loincloth is gone—but the chain Ozmund just lashed keeps them lifted and spread around the knee.

He kicks out with his lower legs, trying and failing to wrest himself free of the bindings; his efforts only return an ache in his muscles and dizzy pain in his head. Panic bubbles in his chest and escapes his throat in babbling whimpers. “N-no! No, Ozmund—please! Please!” Sobs shake his wrecked shoulders; his whole body trembles as Ozmund casually disrobes, ignoring his disjointed begging. “I tried! I-I tried to be good! I’m sorry—please don’t do this. Please!”

Ash’s desperation only seems to stoke Ozmund’s desire even further.

In another life—in some strange parallel world—Ash might have found Ozmund handsome. Much like Evius, Ozmund is tall and well-built, with refined elvish features and piercing eyes. His elegant, lithe form moves with perfect grace, his dark silky hair falling over his pale shoulder as he joins Ash on the bed. He settles beside Ash’s head and strokes Ash’s cheek with his long fingers.

“Sweet boy,” he croons, his fingertips dancing over Ash’s cheekbones. “Stupid boy.” He pulls his hand back and slaps Ash hard across the face, pinning his cheeks in his hand to keep his gaze. “As I said before, you disobeyed me. I’ve been lenient and kind to you so far—I know a brainless kitten like you needs more instruction than most. But I grow tired of waiting and tired of your insolence.”

Tears slip easily from Ash’s eyes. Between Ozmund’s fingers, he can only whisper a chant: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please, please.”

Ozmund’s eyes narrow. “You won’t be truly repentant until you’re punished. For three infractions, that’s three punishments.” He directs Ash’s face forward to look at his own exposed and strung-up body. In his blind panic, Ash had barely registered what Ozmund had done; surrounding his cock is a snug metal cage, latched with a small padlock and secured behind his scrotum with a solid metal ring. “First, you rebuffed my gift of blissful forgetfulness. You begged me to let you be awake and alert. You could’ve had been so sweet and pliable tonight and forgotten all about those drunken fools—but you threw it away.” He palms Ash’s caged cock roughly, the heavy contraption tugging at his delicate skin. “So you forfeit your right to pleasure tonight, and every night until I decide you deserve it again.”

Ash whimpers, confused and frightened. He doesn’t want Ozmund’s pleasure; how could this cage be a punishment? Will it shrink or shock him like the collar?

He doesn’t get an answer from Ozmund. Instead, Ash’s head is turned again to face him.

“Second,” Ozmund continues, prodding his thumb into Ash’s mouth and working his jaw open, “you disobeyed and disrespected my guests. We had an agreement, little cat. Do you remember? Do you recall what would happen if you weren’t good for my guests?” His voice is harsh and hard; Ash squeezes his eyes shut against the renewed flow of tears.

“No,” he wails around Ozmund’s thumb—more a protest than a response. “Pleash!”

“You should learn to strike that word from your vocabulary, pet. But I’ll remind you one last time: I promised to be exactly as kind and gentle as you deserved. After tonight’s display”—he pinches Ash’s jaw and gives it a sharp shake—“I should think you don’t deserve it at all.”

Ash jerks his head away from Ozmund’s grasp, scrambling to speak before he’s subdued once more. “You can’t do this!” he yelps, the hoarseness in his voice giving way to desperation. “I am a human being, Ozmund—I am a person, just like you!”

An appeal to Ozmund’s humanity, or whatever may be left of it; Ash knows it’s probably futile, but he has to try. If Ozmund could only see how insane this all was, if only he could see Ash as something other than subhuman, an object to be used and molded to his desires . . . then surely he would make this all stop. Right? Ash holds his breath for a moment as he awaits Ozmund’s response.

For a second, Ozmund’s eyes seem to soften. He smooths Ash’s hair, gently brushing it behind his ear as he murmurs sympathetically, “Oh, Ash . . .” But as Ash traces his face for any hint of remorse—any shred of empathy—Ozmund instead clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. You’re not a human—just look at yourself. Would a human have those silly little ears and tail? Would a human be passed around as a party favor? Would a human need restraints to stay human? No. But you do. You do, because you’re just a pathetic. Disobedient. Pet.” His hand on Ash’s hair cinches into a vice-like grip, and his sharp features morph once again into hungry malice. He jerks Ash’s head back by his hair, punctuating each word with stinging pain to Ash’s scalp. “And I am your Master. I can do whatever I want. Right now, I want you to suffer.”

Ash’s heart sinks deep into his gut. There’s nothing he can do to stop this—nothing he can do to make it less awful. Ozmund wants it, and it is so. His desire is law.

A faint, animalistic snarl slips from Ozmund’s hostile smile. “Now, you’re going to take my cock in your mouth and get it nice and wet. That and my cum will be your only lubrication tonight. Be grateful you even get this.”

A wall of protests scream in Ash’s mind, but he nods shakily against Ozmund’s grip on his hair. He sneaks a glance at Ozmund’s lap as he brings it closer to Ash’s lips; like before at the party, Ash convinces himself it will be better to know what to expect. And just like before, he’s wrong.

Ozmund’s cock is long—much longer than his own—and thicker than his as well. Although he’s not quite as big as Evius, it’s still more than Ash has ever taken. The broad head presses against the tight line of Ash’s closed lips.

No! Nonononononono!

Ozmund’s fingers wrap locks of Ash’s hair into snug curls as he offers a last, growled warning. “Open up, pet, or it’s going in dry.”

As his head throbs and his heart squeezes painfully, Ash reluctantly opens his mouth, allowing Ozmund’s thickness to slip in.

“Mmn, that’s it,” Ozmund grunts. “Watch your teeth, little cat—don’t make me pull them out.”

He thrusts slowly in and out of Ash’s dry mouth, holding Ash’s hair to control his every movement. It doesn’t take long for his insistent length to press the back of Ash’s throat, blocking his airway and triggering heaving spasms as Ash gags.

I can’t, I can’t—!

Ash’s empty lungs burn; he gasps and coughs when Ozmund finally retreats from his throat.

“Not very wet, is it?” Ozmund traces his tip against Ash’s swollen lips. It’s true, though. He’s still quite dry, and Ash realizes what that means: if he doesn’t want to suffer, he has to work for it.

Ozmund wants him to be complicit in his own rape.

Lips warbling and throat tightening, Ash opens his mouth once more, working up as much saliva as he can and presenting his tongue. Ozmund smirks.

“Oh, look at you. Such a quick learner. Do you want another try? Is that it?” His voice and smile drop. “Beg for it, pet.”

Sobs crawl up Ash’s chest, swelling his sinuses and stinging his eyes with tears that refuse to overflow. He forces himself to contort his expression into some approximation of desire, his eyes wide and prey-like.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “Please let, let me try again . . . Master.”

Ozmund chuckles cruelly, loosing his grip on Ash’s hair to instead cradle his head. “See? Isn’t that easy? Doesn’t that feel right—begging for permission to serve me? Go ahead, pet. I’ll give you till the count of ten to drool over me as much as you’d like. And when you’re done, I’ll fuck you with your own juices.” He snickers sharply through his nose and readjusts, lining himself up with Ash’s mouth once again. “Maybe I’ll even add my own spit to your pitiful ass if you do well enough. Ready?”

Without waiting for Ash to reply, he shoves himself past Ash’s lips.

“One.”

Ash bobs his neck frantically, hollowing his cheeks and summoning as much saliva as his dry mouth will allow.

“Two.”

He sends the spit down his tongue, slavering along Ozmund’s length.

“Three.”

His tongue swirls and swishes. No thoughts can bubble to the surface of Ash’s foggy, aching mind.

“Four.”

He won’t allow it—he can’t. He can’t focus on how he wishes the weight on his tongue was someone else—

“Five.”

Ozmund enters Ash’s throat again; Ash’s panicked breaths come in humiliating snorts and gulps as both his nose and mouth are blocked.

“Six.”

His gag reflex twitches, but he’s held too firmly in place to fight it.

“Seven.”

It doesn’t matter—his tongue keeps working, and his lips push and pull with desperation.

“Eight.”

Allowed to move again, Ash’s jaw burns and his throat is raw.

“Nine.”

Still, he spreads his meager wetness and ignores the salty musk of Ozmund’s skin and dribbling pre-cum. He only hopes it’s enough—

“Ten. Off, pet.”

And then it’s over.

Ozmund pushes Ash’s head away from his lap, patting his cheek in some quasi-affectionate gesture. He strokes his stiff length as he moves from Ash’s side; Ash is both relieved and disgusted to hear the squelching wetness in his hand.

“Mm, what a view,” Ozmund purrs, kneeling between Ash’s suspended and splayed legs. “Such lovely little cheeks. If only they were bright red and bruised . . . Perhaps next time.” With his free hand, Ozmund pokes and tugs at the plug still firmly lodged in Ash’s tight ass.

Ash’s tail limply swishes to cover himself, but the fading magic only allows it to flick anxiously. Renewed panic seizes Ash’s will; in broken, tearful whispers, he continues his chant of, “please, please, please, please—”

Ozmund pulls the plug out, slowly fucking Ash in and out dryly with it. “’Please?’ You want it that badly? Well, then, I shouldn’t hear any complaining, should I?”

He tosses the plug aside and spits on Ash’s exposed asshole. And then, in one smooth motion, he sinks himself firmly into Ash.

Hot, fiery pain pierces Ash as Ozmund’s tip invades his body, pressing an anguished shriek from his chest.

Even with the plug having kept him loosened all day, Ozmund is still far too thick to go in so quickly, so unprepared, and so desperately unwanted. Each inch pushes deeper into Ash, stretching his tight ass to its breaking point; his head shoves past Ash’s defenses, grating like sandpaper past each ridge and ring until it slams into the bend of his colon. Pain radiates through Ash’s belly, and he struggles against his chains.

“No!” he screams hoarsely. “It-it hurts!”

He bucks his hips back, trying and failing to pull himself away from Ozmund’s firm presence inside him. Ozmund merely groans in response, almost laughing at Ash’s protests.

“Oh, please,” Ozmund grunts as he sinks Ash’s hips back down onto his cock, forcing more agonized wails with each thrust. “You’ve taken Evius; you can take me.”

Taken Evius? The most he’d taken of Evius was two of his nimble, slender fingers—nowhere near enough to fit Evius’ enormous cock, much less anyone else’s. Evius wanted to wait until he was sure Ash was ready and able to take him comfortably. He always said it wasn’t supposed to hurt; he said he wanted the first time to be special, and he’d take care of Ash.

“I-I-I,” Ash stammers through rising sobs, “I never have! He n-n-never . . . We didn’t—” Tears choke Ash’s voice before he can continue.

Ozmund stops his hard thrusts for a moment, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “No,” he gasps, his excitement barely contained. He looms over Ash, letting his hands wander and fondle Ash’s body as he teases him. “Am I the first to take this tight, exquisite little ass? Hm? You should’ve told me, darling. That makes tonight so much more special.”

He nearly pulls out of Ash, leaving only the faint curve of his tip inside. The emptiness almost brings tears of relief to Ash’s eyes. But before he has a moment to catch his shuddering breath, Ozmund slams back fully inside him even deeper than before.

“Now, forever and always, I will be your first,” he growls low in Ash’s ear. “You are mine now. Even if you should ever leave, your body will never forget how I molded it, how I trained it. Even if you return to Evius, you will only ever think of me while he’s deep inside of you. Isn’t that special, my love? You will never truly be apart from me.”

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to hurt like this. It’s not supposed to be against his will, trussed and tied like a butchered animal. It’s not supposed to wrench his heart into pieces. And it’s absolutely not supposed to be with Ozmund.

Ozmund resumes his relentless pace, scraping against Ash’s walls and colliding against his furthest reaches over and over again. It never stops hurting—it never gets easier to take. Even as Ash’s body stretches to accommodate the intrusion, he’s already so bruised and damaged that the slightest movement sends shockwaves of pain up his spine and forces whimpers and screams from his lungs.

If anything, the pain only worsens the longer Ozmund fucks him. What little moisture he was able to conjure has long dried up, replaced only with dribbles of his own blood and Ozmund’s pre-cum. His body chafes against Ozmund’s, sweat meeting sweat and skin meeting skin. Before long, the pain becomes overwhelming, and Ash can only let out broken, groaning sobs.

“Yes,” Ozmund purrs in response, “keep crying for me, pet. It makes you clench so—tight—!”

Ash wants to slip away, to let his mind wander to something—anything—other than what’s happening between his legs, but he can’t. The pain pulls him back to his body with every stroke, along with something he didn’t expect. As Ozmund sinks in and out of him with what must be practiced precision, he begins to feel a strange, familiar pressure.

His . . . prostrate? Is that what Evius called it? The tender gland in his ass swells against his will, rubbed and prodded by Ozmund’s cock. It coils tightly in his belly, forcing his own cock to stiffen against the hard metal of his cage. As it grows, the pieces all start to come together: he’s locked in. His cock will outpace the cage, pressing painfully against the tight entrapment until either he begs for mercy . . . or Ozmund forces an orgasm out of him by fucking his sensitive spot over and over.

Ash’s sobbing and begging begins anew; he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this. He doesn’t want Ozmund to make him cum. He doesn’t want this pain to continue. He doesn’t want this memory burned in his mind forever.

“Oh, is it too much, little cat? Are you getting hard from this?” Ozmund slows his rhythm slightly, still pressing perfectly into Ash. He won’t stop, not even for a second, and pressure continues to build in Ash’s body. “That’s too bad, pet. I’m not quite done.”

As Ozmund picks back up to a breathtaking speed, the coil finally snaps in Ash. He spasms and cries out, dribbles of milky liquid spilling from his strained cock. It doesn’t feel good—there’s no relief or pleasure, only a half-hearted physical reaction. At the same time, his ass becomes even more sensitive, and he wails from the overstimulation of Ozmund’s continued thrusts.

Ozmund laughs at his twitching, sensitive body, pounding harder to force rasping groans from Ash’s throat. Again, Ash tries to pull his hips away—to keep Ozmund’s insistent cock from grinding into that aching, throbbing gland—but Ozmund only sinks deeper to meet him.

“That’s it, pet. The more you struggle—ah, fuck—the better it feels.” He hisses, his movements quickly become jerky and frantic. “I wonder if males of your species can get pregnant; I suppose we’ll find out.”

He reaches out to slap Ash’s softening cock, then shoves the fingers of one hand deep down Ash’s throat.

“Suck them while I cum inside you, little cat,” he commands, his hips snapping brutally against Ash’s pelvis. Ash does as instructed, though his body still aches and tears still paint his cheeks.

Hot, thick seed spills unprotected into Ash.

Ozmund groans with feral delight as he softens within Ash and finally pulls out; the relief sends a shudder throughout Ash’s exhausted body. Coming down from his high, Ozmund scoops up a dab of his and Ash’s combined cum and fucks it back into Ash’s mouth.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he teases. “Looks like you enjoyed yourself after all, didn’t you?”

No, I didn’t! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. Ash whines beneath him, pleading with his eyes as he fights against the salty taste in his mouth—is it over? Is it finally over?

It’s only a moment before Ozmund collects himself; with a sigh, he smooths his hair with his free hand and resumes his graceful, domineering posture. He scowls in concentration, removing his fingers from Ash’s lips. “Before I forget, there’s one last thing—your third punishment.”

There’s more? Ash struggles against the chains as much as his worn out body will allow, the thin metal biting painfully into his flesh. He pleads and begs, but Ozmund ignores him, instead busying himself with something on the bedside table.

“Calm yourself, pet,” he chastises Ash. “I told you explicitly earlier: three transgressions, three punishments. You’ve only had two so far. Now, for the third: you allowed Lady Nandaar to violate my rules and try to claim my property. This punishment will ensure that never happens again.” He turns back to Ash, wielding a metal object he can’t quite make out. The smell is familiar, though—dangerously familiar. Something Ash knows on instinct he should avoid.

“It seems I must mark you as mine in a more ostentatious way, so there can be no doubt who owns you.” His hand hovers over Ash’s chest, the object finally coming into view. “Now, stay still.”

The silver stamp presses into Ash’s skin, singeing his hair and raising a puffy, red welt above his heart. He yelps and thrashes against the chains; with only a quick, firm touch, the metal brands him as if it were a hot iron. Ozmund, smug with satisfaction, returns the stamper and admires his handiwork.

“There it is,” he murmurs contentedly, stroking the bright pink flesh to follow its shape. A circle, then a zig-zag line within it: OZ. His personal emblem. “Isn’t that better? Don’t you feel good knowing you’ve taken all your punishments? Have you learned your lessons?”

Everything hurts. Ash’s body is sore and tired; not a single inch is without an ache or burn or pin-prick numbness. His eyes struggle to stay open, overflowing at all times with either tears or exhaustion. None of this feels good—least of which his broken, defeated mind.

He nods limply, his eyes stinging with tears both shed and unshed, begging to slip closed. Just let me sleep, he pleads internally. Put me back in the cage. Please.

Finally—finally?—Ozmund strokes Ash’s cheek. Gently. Tenderly. The touch makes Ash’s lip quiver uncontrollably; he leans into the kindness while it lasts, ignoring the shame screeching in his head.

“Yes, that’s a good boy.” Even with the condescending tone, Ash still melts at the praise. The punishments are done—he’s good again. He’ll get soft, pleasant touches again. Maybe he’ll even get real food again. Maybe—

Ash feels Ozmund’s renewed hardness against his leg, brushing up and down the curve of his ass. At the same time, Ozmund lifts Ash’s neck to his lips, sucking and biting greedily at the sensitive flesh.

“W-wait!” Ash whimpers. “I thought—I had all my punishments?”

The caressing hand on Ash’s cheek pulls back and slaps him, hard. “You’re not here to think, pet,” Ozmund replies darkly. “You’re here to be my plaything. Is it a punishment to serve your Master, or is it your purpose? If anything”—he grips Ash’s face tightly and forces him to meet his piercing glare—“you should consider it a privilege, especially now that the only interesting thing about you has worn off.”

With a snap of Ozmund’s fingers, the chains securing Ash shift and morph, tugging him onto his knees and pressing his ass high in the air. Ozmund settles behind him, lubricating himself with the remaining cum dripping from Ash’s hole. Ash tries in vain to use his tail to do something—anything—to push him away, but like Ozmund said . . . It’s gone. The magic has finally faded. And Ash, once again, suddenly feels very alone.

Ozmund holds Ash’s hips close to him, scratching his nails down Ash’s belly. “Did you really think one quick fuck would satisfy me? We’re not done until I say we’re done, little cat. But”—he lifts Ash’s head by his hair—“as fun as your sniveling and sobbing can be, I’m growing tired of hearing it.” Another swirl of magic, and he shoves a wad of fabric into Ash’s mouth, securing it in place with another strip tied behind his head. “Much better. Now I can fuck you in peace.”

By the time Ozmund finally finishes—several hours and loads later—Ash’s screams have long died behind the gag.

-

Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba @corbytheking @lumpofsand @tired-human09 (I thought you might want to be tagged, lemme know if not and I'll remove you!)

-

A/N: I'm back babey! Well, hopefully. Still slogging through moving, but I have a bit more free time to write at the moment so hopefully I can start getting a chapter a week out again and gradually pick up from there. It's been . . . a lot lately. Thanks for being patient <3

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 25

This feels like a Halloween post if I've ever made one. Writing things I didn't know I was capable of. Please heed the warnings, this is more intense than my usual writing!

Content warnings for: threats of death, mild gore via excessive blood, wound manipulation, stabbing, forced consumption of blood, creepy whumper, partial nudity, and stitching wounds.

Again: please do not read if you are sensitive to blood.

Stitches

“How many fucking times?! How many times have I found you doing this same bullshit?!” He slammed his hand down on the table, nails scraping against wood as they curled into a fist. His captive flinched away violently. “You’re terrified, just look at yourself! And yet, every time you’re afforded a bit of freedom, you find another way to test my patience!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” They gasped, backing further through the kitchen until they hit the counter. He followed.

“I can see through your act, idiot,” he spat, not swayed as he usually may have been. Their eyes widened, just enough to betray their shock. “I know. You think this is a little routine now, don’t you? I throw you back to the basement and you play nice until I give you another chance?”

His hips pressed against theirs and he loomed over, forcing them to lean away. Wild brown eyes searched for an answer, pupils dilated to nothing.

“I don’t! I swear to you!” One finger curled in their collar ring, nearly lifting them off the ground with the force of the pull. His nose pressed into theirs, breath seeping into their pores.

“Wrong. Answer.” A guttural yell and he threw them to the floor. “You think I can’t hurt you! That’s your problem. You don’t think I’d go further.”

Their head had hit the tile and it took a few seconds to remember anything at all. The click of a lock sounded and then metal on metal, sliding and reverberating. They managed to kneel up and look back, only to see him brandishing a boning knife.

“You know what? No. You don’t even think I’ve thought further. You don’t think I have ideas I’ve forced myself to hold back from. That I could indulge in at any moment.” They were cornered, trapped in between the counters and a… dangerous place.

“I don’t think any of that! I’ll go back to the basement, I’ll never try again, you can keep me there the rest of my life! You’re acting crazy!”

“Oh, am I?!” he shouted. “Last time I checked, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting something to change!” Screaming, he was screaming now, dropping to his knees, dragging them by an ankle. “I’m giving you what you want! Something! Is! CHANGING!”

His knee on their left thigh, forcing it flat, then pushing their legs apart.

“STOP!” They sat up too quickly, flailed, pushing at his leg even as their vision swam.

“I’ve cut you on broad, safe surfaces. But I always wanted to cut down through creases.” What he lacked in volume he made up for in dead certainty, but his hands were still trembling with rage. “Right where your arteries run. Just to see what would happen.”

He traced the crease where their thigh joined their pelvis and a palm smacked down to protect it. 

“Stop touching me. Put the knife away and-!”

The knife stabbed through their hand.

The

Knife

Stabbed

Through

Their

Hand.

Disbelief couldn’t scream until he wrenched it out. And they wailed. Blood poured from both ends, and god it was just the edge, through the muscles of their pinky, missing bone, but one wound was gushing from two points. Their other hand clamped over it. Out of sight. Keep it out of sight.

“You’re pale. I wonder, where’s your blood gone?” Sick pleasure. That’s what he was getting. Holy fuck. “But I hardly nicked your thigh.”

And it slid directly into the crease, too hard, too quick, too deep. His face was red. Splattered. Bright. Dripping. Then the cabinet. It sprayed. Blood sprayed. 

“Your femoral artery.” That smile was coated in it. “That’s what I hit.” And he was looking, his fingers-

“PLEASE! PL-EEEEEEAH-SE…!” Pushing into the cut, triggering some reflex deep beneath their consciousness and they were convulsing back on their elbows, black static, not enough to hide crimson pushing up their shirt, shoving into their mouth. It was skin and nail, human, but it was iron, human, pressing down their tongue, dripping down their throat, dripping down the cabinet, dripping dripping dripping.

He was back with a sewing kit. He had left. But he was back. Their ears were ringing.

And they were bleeding out on their back and he asked them “you understand now, don’t you? You have another leg. You have two arms. You have a neck. The most important ones are in the neck, you know. Could I slit it and still save you?”

He was threading a needle: a straight sewing needle.

“You- you need a… a surgical…”

“This is all I got. You’ll have to deal.”

“911…”

“You’re stupider than I thought. Scream.”

Fingers pinched raw edges together, pulling hard, forcing the needle through. Pulling harder when the thread knotted. They screamed. They didn’t know they still could.

“What do you think? Ten? Eleven? Come on, look and make yourself useful.” The collar pulled and they were sitting up, listing to the side. There was a puddle under them. Their pant leg was cut away, and the leg of their underwear. All scarlet.

He must have let them go. He said this was number five. Then number eight. He was out of his mind, he couldn’t count, and they were dying.

“I think it’s still bleeding.” Swiping across the sealed seam. Their body couldn’t hurt anymore, but it prickled through the darkness. Then smoke. Burning.

Fire in his hand, his lighter, under the knife. The blade black with ash.

“Cauterization. Something else I always wanted to try.”

They faded out, then.

[chaotic-orphan]

Partners in Crime (2)

Read part one here

~*~*~*~*~*~

Casper peeled himself off the ground, his limbs exhausted as if he had just donated every drop of his blood. Even if he did donate all his blood, Monroe would still expect him to show up to work, or get Dante to grab his corpse for another fucking job.

He wobbled when he got his feet under him. It felt weird, like Monroe had cut off one of his senses; taken his eyes, or deafened him, or plucked every nerve from his body.

Monroe smiled at him as he grabbed the wall for support coming in from the balcony. “There you go, Casper. Taking it like a champ.”

“Oh fuck off, Monroe.”

Gavin laughed at that, eyes darting between the strange pair. Casper settled heavy into one of the chairs at the island, where Monroe was sitting when Casper arrived.

“Was any of this necessary?” Casper asked, not thanking Monroe as he slid a cup of coffee across to Casper. Little bit of milk, two sugars, just the way he liked it. “You still haven’t told me why you did it.”

Monroe inclined his head. “I thought I told you playing coy doesn’t suit you, Fox.”

“You think that I somehow betrayed you and used my power for someone else?”

Monroe just stared at Casper across the marble countertop. It was Gavin who answered. “He doesn’t think, Casper. He knows that—”

“Oh fuck off, Gavin, nobody wants you here,” Casper replied without looking at him. “You know that, right?”

“At least Gavin understands loyalty,” Monroe replied, heavy eyes pinning Casper to his chair. Casper rolled his eyes, bringing the steaming mug to his lips and gulping down two mouthfuls, gathering his thoughts.

“Like a dog,” Casper replied finally, casting his attention back to Monroe. “Well, I won’t be useful to whatever plans you want to discuss for the next few days. You’ve ensured that, dickhead.”

Monroe waved the insult away. “Nonsense. You know me, Casper, I like to plan well in advance. Your abilities should be up and running by the time I have use for them.”

“How convenient.”

“It really is. Just remember how you got to where you are today, Fox. How quickly your life changed after you met me.”

“Not for the better,” Casper grumbled.

Monroe raised his mug of coffee in a sardonic toast. “And yet, you can pay your rent.”

“As can you in your fancy hotel,” Casper shot back, raising his own cup. “Partners, remember?”

Monroe’s eyes glimmered with a dangerous smugness that Casper hated. It was just so irritatingly superior. “Partners,” he replied coolly.

They both took a sip of their coffee. Even with the two sugars, somehow Casper’s coffee tasted bitter, or maybe it was the eerie emptiness in his body. The dreadful absence of something he couldn’t quite describe.

“Now,” Monroe said, setting his cup down and clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “To business. Gavin, be a dear and grab my papers for me.”

Gavin stood and nodded, as if following Monroe’s commands were his life purpose. His reason to breathe. Casper kept his eyes trained on Gavin’s back as he left the room.

Stupid git.

Monroe inclined his head. “He’s useful.”

“Yeah, as a footstool. Or maybe with a gag, he would be.”

Monroe smiled. “Mmm, so tempting, Casper. I could get the pair of you a matching set. I’m sure Dante knows a guy.”

Dante answered with deathly silence as he so usually did. Casper could picture him in his usual spot, sprawled out across the couch in the living room, a book in his hand.

Casper scoffed. “I’m sure he does.”

Gavin returned, sliding a manilla folder across the countertop to Casper. Casper stopped it with his hand and looked down at the stupid file. He didn’t want to do this again, last time was supposed to be his last job. He wanted to wash his hands of this life already, he was tired of it.

“Do you need Gavin to open the file for you, Fox?”

Casper raised his eyes to Monroe’s across the table. He clenched his jaw and pushed the file a little away from him. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Open files?” Monroe asked innocently.

Casper’s expression dropped, exposing his irritation. “This. This fucking whatever we have here. Aren’t you tired? We got everything we want, Bass, let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

Monroe crossed his arms over his chest, cocking a brow at Casper. “You want to stop making money?”

“We have enough,” Casper grumbled. “The two of us, okay. You have your passive income now from your hotels and your real estate and I am secure. I have savings and shit. We don’t have to keep living like it’s all going to disappear tomorrow! We can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Easy to say when you’re not the one taking the risks!” Casper snapped. The air seemed to chill with the snap of a book behind Casper and he straightened in his seat as he heard Dante move behind him.

Gavin, the idiot, broke the silence with a sneer. “You’re such a fucking pussy, Casp—”

“Dante, please show Gavin out.”

Gavin’s head whipped to Monroe, but Monroe didn’t even look at him, his hard gaze fixed on Casper instead.

“What? Why, I can help.”

“I know, but it’s getting late, and Casper and I need a chat.”

Before Gavin could protest further, Dante put a hand on his shoulder. Gavin looked between the two at the counter before letting out a disapproving groan and shrugging Dante’s hand off.

“Fine. Call me when you need me.”

“I will.”

Dread pooled in Casper as he watched Dante and Gavin leave. Somehow, Monroe still made him uneasy when he shouldn’t. Casper had known Monroe way before the other two did, but Monroe had a lethal way about him. In his words and his quiet power. The fact that he could beat the shit out of Casper but paid someone else to do it said everything about the man.

Only when the doors to the penthouse shut did Monroe begin to walk around the counter towards Casper. Casper set his jaw, not letting any of his anxiety show as Monroe undid the button of his waist coat.

“You’re right you know,” Monroe said casually, attempting to disarm Casper. Casper had grown with Monroe; he’d seen him do this same set up right before he added the dagger to your kidney with a smile. “I don’t take the risks.”

“I know.”

A razor-sharp smile spread across Monroe’s lips that seemed too large for his face. “Do you know why I don’t take the risks?”

Casper scoffed and looked away. That was a mistake. If there was one thing Casper should’ve known — one thing Monroe taught him — it was to never take your eyes off the enemy. A flash of movement caught his eye and before he could face Monroe again there was a hand in his hair.

Casper flinched, then froze, his blood pounding an erratic war drumbeat in his ears as the hand ruffled his hair. Casper turned a wide-eyed glance to see Monroe smiling, genuinely this time. Casper wanted to slap Monroe’s hand away like he always did, but there was something wrong with this picture. Some void opened up in the pit of his stomach ready to swallow him whole, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

“It’s because I don’t have to, Caspy,” Monroe said simply with a casual shrug, but his eyes… the way Monroe was staring at him reminded Casper of a wolf looking at a particular vulnerable piece of meat. “I pay Dante to do most of it.”

Casper batted Monroe’s hand away with his forearm, steeling his expression once more. “Yeah, and I do the rest, putting my life and freedom on the line.”

A flash of movement and Casper’s head slammed against the marble island counter. Casper’s hands shot to the hand on the back of his neck which pinched harder as he tried to pry it off.

“Casper…” Monroe sighed as Casper groaned, trying to push himself from the chair and out of Monroe’s reach. Monroe hooked his leg around the chair and slammed Casper’s head down again. The thump of his head off the counter resounded through his entire skull, rattling his brain. Casper cried out, letting go of Monroe’s hand and instead pushed against the countertop. “Sometimes you can be a real brat, y’know that?”

“Fuck you!” Casper spat, spit flying from his mouth as he cried out, Monroe crushing his skull against the cool stone. “Get off of me!”

“Remind me again, Caspy, why don’t I take the risks?”

Casper didn’t answer initially. Monroe’s fingers went to Casper’s hair at the nape of his neck, fisting a clump and yanking Casper’s head back over the chair. Frightened eyes met warm blue eyes, smiling down at him.

“I’m a patient man, Casper. I can wait for your answer.”

“Bas... let me–”

“EHH!” Monroe said, mimicking the sound of a wrong answer buzzer on a gameshow. “Try again.”

“Okay! Fine! I don’t know! Why don’t you take the risks?!” Casper spat, the words rushing out of him as his head snapped up again.

Monroe stared at him as if he were a piece of meat. Casper reached for his ability pathetically, finding nothing comforting when he found the usual well of magic inside him.

“I don’t take the risks, Casper,” Monroe began softly, crowding Casper as he lowered himself slightly to stand over him. “Because I’m not the unregistered powered individual between us.”

Casper’s lips curled back into a snarl. “You bastard! You were the one who told me not to register!”

“Potato-potahto.” Monroe’s hand in Casper’s hair snaked over his shoulder as he leaned in closer to Casper’s face, a mock comfort that only made Casper’s heart race in his chest. “Point is, if you want to cash out and settle now when we have so much potential, well then… my good morality would win out and I’d have to report you to the proper authorities.”

The words stung something deep inside Casper’s chest, as if one of his arteries to his heart had just been severed. Like Monroe reached into Casper’s chest, plucked at the wire connecting his heart to his body and snapped the chord with a sickening smile on his face.

Monroe… he wouldn’t do something like that. Not to Casper, not after everything they had been through. Casper was the only family Monroe had— not blood, but as close to it or better.

“You wouldn’t,” Casper challenged, his voice coming out far smaller than he intended, trying to call his bluff. This was the first time Monroe said anything like this to him. Granted, it was also the first time that Casper talked about quitting but…

Monroe’s smile was anything but warm as he pulled back, patting Casper’s shoulder with his hand. A gesture of mock reassurance. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Monroe straightened, pulling back altogether and began to undo his cufflinks as Casper straightened, trying to catch his breath and mulled over the threat silently. He felt sick, more so than he did when his powers were muted, but this was on a whole new level of control. Even for Monroe.

“Listen, Caspy, it’s not a bad thing we’re doing, and it’s not like I’m forcing you to do it.” Casper remained silent. He didn’t bother to point out the fact that Monroe was forcing him by blackmailing him into staying. Monroe’s voice turned soft, honey-coated words adding: “It’s for our mutual benefit, and you know – you know – I’d never let anything actually happen to you.”

Casper looked away from him, opting to stare forward instead out to the night-soaked sky that fell like a shudder over the city.

“You’ll see in time,” he said, unclipping his pocket watch and leaving it in front of Casper. “I haven’t steered us wrong before; I don’t plan on doing it now.”

When Casper still didn’t reply or look at him, Monroe sighed. From the corner of his eye, Casper could see Monroe run a hand through his hair. He was uncomfortable with his threat at least, Casper noted. At least he was still somewhat human.

“Tell ya what. I’ll have your bed made up in your room, huh? You’ll stay the night.”

“No thank you.”

“Nonsense. It’s already late.” Monroe said, gesturing to the windows. “Your room hasn’t been touched; I think your bed was stripped but other than that it’s golden.”

Casper crossed his arms across his chest. “I have an apartment. I’d rather go home.”

Monroe paused, glancing over his shoulder at Casper. Casper could feel the eyes boring into the side of his face, but he refused to look at the man. Even though his heart sped up in his chest. Was this considered being a brat in Monroe’s eyes? Would he hurt him again?

Casper stiffened, preparing for the blow.

Monroe hummed.

Casper risked a glance. It was a mistake.

“I wasn’t asking.” Monroe told him with a smile. “We haven’t had family time in a while. We should relax, hmm? Just the two of us. Catch up. How about a movie?”

“Bas—” Casper protested getting to his feet.

“You can choose the film. And we can order takeaway, that sushi place you like? I haven’t touched your room, but I can get one of the maids to make up your bed?”

Casper sighed. Monroe grinned at him, knowing he had won.

“Choose whatever, I’ll be a few minutes.” Monroe said before ruffling Casper’s hair again and turning away. The protests died on Casper’s tongue as he watched Monroe retreat to his bedroom to get changed.

He didn’t want to stay here ever again. That’s why he moved out in the first place. He had outgrown living with Monroe who blurred the lines between family and business associates in the blink of an eye. It gave him whiplash. To go from the caring, protective older brother to the cold-blooded bastard that was Monroe.

“Fuck,” Casper muttered under his breath. He really shouldn’t stay. He should disappear while Monroe was distracted and move country, or continent. Or planet if he didn’t want Dante to find him and drag him back.

Fuck.

He dropped his head, running a hand through his hair and pulling at the strands on the back of his neck, letting out a long, tired sigh. Pale eyes flicked to the golden pocket watch that Monroe had discarded on the counter. Casper glanced up, making sure Monroe wasn’t lingering as he grabbed it, turning it over in his hand to read the inscription.

Fight. The world has enough doormats anyways. - C

Casper ran a thumb over the indents of the letters in the metal. It was old. It was old when he got it from a backstreet merchant known only as Grouse. Definitely stolen, but Grouse always had a soft spot for Casper. And Monroe. The only real cost was the engraving that crippled Casper financially for a week, but it was worth it. To see Monroe’s face light up when he gave him the gift was worth it.

Casper sighed, putting the watch down and getting to his feet. After all this time, Monroe was still the only shred of family he had in this world, the same way Casper was Monroe’s only family. Monroe had found him on the streets — the two of them scrawny and skinny — and taught him how to live instead of just survive.

Casper remembered looking up at the terrifying boy a couple years older than him that had just taken out three guys double his size, probably triple Casper’s. Monroe’s eyes gleamed with something monstrous when he turned to face Caspe, his chest heaving as he threw down the lid to the trashcan he had used to fight the other boys.

Monroe’s gaze softened when they fixed on Casper’s half concealed body. “You just gonna lay there and die, or are you gonna fight?”

Casper blinked owlishly at the boy. People rarely noticed him, let alone spoke to him when they saw him. He risked sticking his neck out a little to get a better look at the hot-blooded boy. He had blood gushing down from his hairline, staining the right side of his face.

Casper’s eyes widened as he saw one of the boys get to his feet behind the boy. Casper didn’t think, he just moved. He dashed past the other boy, standing between his saviour and the other boy. He scooped the metal lid from the ground and mimicked how the nice boy fought. He smashed the lid up, not quite reaching the taller boy’s chin like his saviour, but instead slammed it into the other boy’s chest, then below his ribs before sweeping it against the back of the bully’s legs.

The hulk fell with a thud. Wordlessly, Casper turned to face his saviour who was beaming down at him. Up close, Casper could see the dirt on the boy’s face and the small red stream down his nose. His teeth-stained red. The boy put a hand in Casper’s hair and ruffled it.

“A fighter. Good. The world has enough doormats anyways.”

The words were the nugget of wisdom Monroe had told Casper, back when they were kids. It wasn’t the full quote because the engraver said that it wouldn’t fit on the back of the pocket watch, so Casper pulled out the important parts and cut the rest.

Monroe taught him the way to survive the streets. He taught him everything he knows; rumours were power, favours currency, and of everything Monroe had taught him, only the smart ones survive.

That initial mantra – you just gonna lay there and die? – echoed in Casper’s mind like an earworm, every time someone hit him to the ground, he’d hear Monroe’s voice and get back up.

Casper walked into his room and stood in the doorway, taking it all in. Everything was how he left it. His bed took up most of the room, a super king and softer than any bed he had ever slept in. His PC was set up on his desk in the corner of the room, his screensaver lighting up the screen. Casper made a point not to look at it as he took the first door to his right.

His wardrobe, a small box room with shelves panelled into each wall and a hanging space in the back. Casper grabbed black tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, getting dressed in the wardrobe. Hanging his signature leather leather jacket up with care and throwing the rest of his clothes wherever they landed.

It felt good, like old times as he stepped out of the wardrobe and walked to his ensuite. He missed him, the old Monroe; the version that was like an older brother. Bass. Not the dictator who had taken over Bass’s body, the hard businessman Monroe, who took whatever he wanted and left nothing for anyone else.

Casper made a point of ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that told him that’s the way Bass had always been. That it was Casper who changed. He didn’t have the energy to deal with that kind of revelation tonight.

He stopped in front of the mirror and sighed. He didn’t look into it, but he could see the gash on his forehead from the corner of his eye.

Just wash your face, Casper, he told himself. Tiredness pulled at his mind, fraying the edges slightly. He didn’t notice he was tired before, but the weight of everything felt too great. Or maybe it was because he was in comfortable clothes.

Just remember how you got here, Casper, Monroe isn’t there for you. He really wished that voice would shut up for two seconds. Thankfully there was a knock at his door.

“You ready?” Monroe called from the other side. Casper nodded, realising after that Monroe couldn’t see him right now. “Yeah,” he said back, walking to the door and opening it. Monroe grinned at him. He was dressed in red and black chequered pyjama pants and a white t-shirt. His grin exposed his faint dimple that was so much more prominent when they were kids.

Casper followed him to the couch, settling in while Monroe pressed a button on a remote to lower the blinds over the windows. They closed with a soft hum while Casper scrolled through Netflix looking for something to watch. He had one hand on the armrest of the sofa, propping his chin up while he scanned the films idly.

“I called for Maid to come up and change your bed, and asked Butler to place the order for sushi.” Monroe told him, scrolling through his phone casually.

Casper hummed in reply. From the corner of his eye he saw Monroe pause his scrolling on his phone and turn to face him.

“Oi, don’t tell me you’re still mad about today,” Monroe said. Casper shrugged one shoulder, eyes still focused on the TV. “Caspy,” Monroe whined like a child, slamming his foot at Casper’s leg. “Come on.”

“You got your dog to force me to drink some fucking potion that cuts me off from my powers for who knows how long, and then threatened to expose me to the government for being an unregistered Supe.” Casper said, turning his head to glare at Monroe now. “Sorry if I’m a little pissed off.”

“That’s business, Casp. You know that.” Casper studied Monroe’s face, his jaw clenched. Monroe’s face softened, a cheeky grin exposing his dimple again. “Casper~” he sang, setting his phone down on the armchair. “You can’t be mad at me forever.”

Before Casper could reply, Monroe lunged and caught Casper around the neck. His elbow locked around Casper’s throat while his other hand went to his hair, knuckles poised and ready. Casper kicked out, forcing the pair of them back against the couch cushions, trying to break free. Monroe responded in kind, locking his legs around Casper’s waist, immobilising him completely.

“Say you love me.”

“No!”

“Say you love me.”

“No way!” Casper grunted, pulling on the elbow locked around his neck and pulling it off slightly. He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. “Get off me, idiot!”

“Say you love me or I won’t let go.”

“I’m going to punch you,” Casper told him.

Monroe sighed, tightening his grip on Casper’s waist with his legs. “Then you forced my hand.��� His voice grave.

Casper cried out when Monroe gave him a nuggie, bucking wildly as his hands reached for Monroe’s wrists and yanked his hands off Casper’s head. Casper planted his foot on the couch and launched them off the side, rolling until he was free of Monroe’s clutches, a wide grin on his face.

Monroe got to his hands and knees with a small laugh. “Say you love me or I’ll eat all the sushi in front of you.”

“Like you could.”

“I’m serious,” Monroe said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll get Butler to tie you up and you can watch me eat all the beautiful dead fish.”

The doorbell rang. The brother’s locked eyes for a moment. Then it was a mad dash for the door. Casper reached it first, smiling at Butler, hand out to get the food before Monroe barrelled into him from the side, and pushed him to the ground.

“Thank you, Butler,” Monroe said, fixing his hair and grabbing the bag. “You are a star.”

“Of course, Mr Monroe.” Butler said, his eyes drifting behind Monroe. Casper’s hand darted over Monroe’s shoulder, kicking the older man in his shins and grabbing the bag of food.

“Thank you Butler!” Casper called over his shoulder, dashing to the kitchen and quickly unpacking the dishes.

Butler hummed while Monroe groaned, taking Butler’s outstretched hand. “It’s good to see you both together again,” he said earnestly.

Monroe’s grin melted to a genuine smile. “He’s still a little shit.”

“As are you, sir.” Butler said with a wink. Monroe waved the old man’s comment away with a breath through his teeth.

“Psssh, me? Never.”

“Indeed.”

The rustling of cartons and paper bags drew Monroe to the kitchen, where he saw Casper sitting on the edge of the countertop, a piece of California roll between two chopsticks.

Monroe smiled at the scene. It was good to be together again, to see his little shithead of a brother again. Compared to what he was when they were kids, Casper was a man now, same as him. He didn’t need as much protection as before, Monroe would always be there for him. Always.

Even when Casper didn’t want him to be anymore.

[mj-iza-writer]

Maybe too specific for a request but...

I'm thinking about a vampire used as a bait by hunters for more powerful/dangerous/valuable creatures.

I mean, most creatures hate vampires and would love an occasion to hurt a vulnerable, chained up vampire. Also they can regenerate, so they're reusable!

Whumptober Day 7

Only for emergencies - unconventional weapon - magic with a cost - "it's us or them."

Though I liked these prompts, I couldn't think of any stories, so I used a prompt from the alt list with the used as bait prompt. I'm also using this to answer a request. - Mj

This story delves into Vampire: the Masquerade. So I used some mythos, terms, and lore from that fandom.

Whumpee shuddered fearfully as the sound of heavy steps echoed outside of their cell.

The heavy door screeched open.

"Okay bloodsucker. Are you ready to earn your keep?", Avril, Whumpee's owner, chuckled.

"Ple... please, I just want to die. You've caused me to be an accomplice in the murder of my own kindred', Whumpee hid in the back of their cell.

"Exactly why I won't let you die. You're too useful. A pitiful bait that other creatures can't help but mess with", Avril pulled out a bowl, "why do you care about what happens to the other kindred? They don't care about you. They attack you, even when you are clearly being used as bait. They just can't help themselves. Then the ones that do escape don't give you a second thought."

Whumpee looked at the bowl. It smelt intoxicating.

Whumpee licked their lips, causing Avril to laugh.

"Stupid bloodsucker. Such a dumb mind. You are supposed to be some powerful being, but here you are...  groveling for leftover meat and blood from my dinner", Avril stirred the blood around, causing the aroma to infiltrate the air more, "what do we say?"

"Plea... please may I eat Mas-master", Whumpee shook with adrenaline. They knew they would be sweating if their body could do it. Blood had become an addiction, and they had to rely on Avril to give it to them. Blood was so limited that it couldn't even be considered as a meal anymore, just something to keep them going, or something that was withheld if they didn't act right. They craved fresh blood. To be able to bite into someone... they couldn't remember the last time they had fresh blood.

"Earth to Whumpee", Avril glared at Whumpee.

"I-I'm sorry... bloodlust", Whumpee whispered, "I-I'm so hungry."

"I bet, so I hope you remember this smell. You are not getting anything until dawn when the hunt is over for the night", Avril stuck their finger into the blood and smeared it across Whumpee's upper lip.

The smell was too much. Whumpee lapped violently at the blood, then lunged forward at Avril.

Avril lifted their foot and kicked Whumpee down.

"I don't think so", Avril chuckled.

Whumpee was led out into the night by a chain. Their hands were tied behind their back. A muzzle pressed tightly against their face. A metal bit held down their tongue.

Avril talked amongst their partners as they made their way to a bridge that was prone to have kindreds stopping to rest.

Avril watched Whumpee's reactions for any tell-tale signs that kindreds were nearby.

"I know you sense something. What is it?", Avril saw Whumpee's head turn quickly.

"Anire" Whumpee let out a muffly, struggled reply.

"Vampire", Avril looked around, "get ready. This one might be a bit stronger with how fast Whumpee's head jerked."

Whumpee was shoved to the ground, and the hunters scattered. Whumpee winced as they looked around. They could hear strong wings beating against the wind. It was coming closer.

A well-dressed vampire flew over a few times before landing in front of Whumpee.

Whumpee looked up at them sadly, then looked back at the ground in defeat. This vampire was a very powerful being, the strongest yet. Whumpee would be a fun play thing for a few minutes until Avril made a move. This vampire would no doubt get away, and Whumpee wouldn't get their meal.

"My, you poor thing. I've heard quite a bit about your predicament. Captured by a human and used to hunt us. Unfortunately, you don't have a lot of power as it is, but the human has definitely kept you in a weakened state", the vampire knelt down.

Whumpee nervously looked up. Why was this vampire talking, an-and being nice?

Whumpee whimpered a little when the older vampire reached and cupped their face. They had soft, gentle fingers.

"It's okay, I've been hoping to find you. Let's get rid of these pesky hunters first", the vampire smiled. Six fangs were revealed.

Whumpee realized just how powerful this being was. Four fangs on their top jaw, two on their bottom. Avril wouldn't stand a chance.

Avril and their team made a move when it seemed the vampire was trying to remove the muzzle.

"This is locked on quite well... oh, I was wondering when they would come out", the vampire stood and looked around.

"Seven against one... hmm, what is a vampire to do?", they acted as though they were nervous but chuckled after.

"I'm Caretaker, of the Ventrue clan. I'm afraid tonight is your last night of hunting. The seven of you have messed with way to many of us now. They have asked the clan leaders to step in to put a stop to this", Caretaker announced.

"Ven-Ventrue?", Avril nervously gulped, "uhm you know what, can we just, you know, forget this ever happened. I'll just collect my property there by your feet, and we can, you know, be on our way?"

Caretaker chuckled, "no, as I said, I've been bothered to have to come here to deal with you and your team. You have bothered all of the clans. All thirteen. Normally hunters don't get the honor of facing off against a ventrue, as we find you hunters to be trivial, but we are quite done with your group."

One of the hunters tried to sneak up behind Caretaker and stab a spike into their back while they talked.

Whumpee muffled a scream, but Caretaker was already grabbing the person. They were on the ground in seconds.

"My dear", Caretaker glanced at Whumpee, "which one of these has caused you the most grief? I'll let you drink from them."

Whumpee locked eyes with Avril.

"You wouldn't dare", Avril glared at Whumpee, "you little sh...."

Caretaker grabbed Avril's face, and with a quick jerk, their neck was snapped.

Avril fell to the ground.

Whumpee stared fearfully at the body. Avril's eyes were still wide open, looking at Whumpee. Their pleadful expression unchanging now. Small gasp caused their lips to quiver.

"Two down, five to go", Caretaker started toward their next target.

Whumpee tried to roll away from Caretaker. They were thankful but terrified of this vampire.

Caretaker finished off all seven of the hunters. They took first choice and drank from one of their necks.

"Normally I don't take my meals like this, but I used up a lot of energy with this mess."

Vampires started to fly in to see if they could eat.

"Master, may we partake in this feast?", one flew lower.

"Yes, you vultures can eat up... except that one", Caretaker pointed at Avril, "that one is reserved."

Caretaker looked around for a moment before they saw where Whumpee had hid.

"Come now, I won't hurt you", Caretaker gently pulled Whumpee out from the shadow.

They finally managed to get the gag and other bindings off of Whumpee.

"Tied quite tightly, hmm", Caretaker helped Whumpee over to Avril, "take your meal. You look famished."

Whumpee stared into Avril's eyes. Tears streamed into the dirt.

"I-I can't", Whumpee looked away, "I haven't earned my meal. It isn't right."

"You don't have to earn this meal. If you are coming home with me I'd prefer for you to eat something beforehand. This will probably be the first of many meals I'll bring for you so you can get your strength back. Please eat."

"Go home wi-with you, but I-I'm not worthy... you're a ventrue... I don't even know what I am. I'm a mutt. Why would you want to take home some mere mutt?", Whumpee looked up at them, "I'm nothing master."

"I can do what I please. You may not question my decision to take care of you. Now eat", Caretaker knelt down.

Whumpee only kept their eyes on the ground. They figured that the vampire was more than likely taking them as a slave. Whumpee lowered themself even more to show reverence.

Suddenly, Caretaker sliced their claw like nails along Avril's throat.

Avril's shallow breathing turned to a shallow gargle.

The smell of fresh blood permeated Whumpee's nose.

They couldn't help but lunge towards the open cut and gulp down the blood.

"That's it. Just needed a little push", Caretaker smiled as they licked away blood from their nails.

Whumpee looked up at them as they drank.

Their puppy like eyes seemed so sweet to Caretaker.

Whumpee released when they could feel Avril's pulse weaken.

"Are you full?", Caretaker watched as Whumpee looked up.

"Their pulse is weak... I-I shouldn't tak..."

"I asked if you were full, not if they were done. Whatever is left of these hunters will go to the werewolves stalking us just past the tree line. If you are still hungry, then continue eating", Caretaker folded their arms.

Whumpee looked down at Avril. They were weakly looking around. Eyes glazed over. Already very close to death.

"I-I uhm, I am still hungry", Whumpee whispered, "I haven't eaten in a long time. Especially fresh blood."

"Then eat some more", Caretaker pushed.

Caretaker helped Whumpee up to their feet.

"You sucked them dry", Caretaker looked at the dried out corpse laying at their feet.

"I-is that okay?", Whumpee continued to carry themself lowly.

"Yes, it's perfect. You needed a full meal", Caretaker turned and saw how they were carrying themself, "you needn't worry about carrying yourself so low. I'm not one of those ventrue. You respect me, I earn my respect." Caretaker looked around and saw several vampires had flown away already, "so come with me. It is almost dawn. We need to get home."

"Home?", Whumpee whispered.

"Yes, you are coming with me for protection until we figure out what is going on with these blasted hunters. They have become a little bold lately, so we will need to put them back in their place. You can sleep in my coffin until we find you a replacement. I'm sure you don't have your own?"

"No master", Whumpee shook their head, "you're sharing your coffin... with me?"

"Yes, of course. You will feel well rested. Nothing like a good rest in a coffin to help you gain your strength back."

Whumpee looked back at the corpse before they followed behind Caretaker.

Several werewolves came out and pounced on the bodies after the remaining vampires flew away.

"I've never met a ventrue before", Whumpee hurried to catch up to Caretaker, "you are so much nicer than I thought."

"Well, there are few ventrue that will act exactly as you imagined them to act, but there are a few of us that are quite nice when we need to be."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou for saving me."

"You're welcome dear", Caretaker smiled, "now let's get you to my home where you can rest and heal."

"Master, I have one more question. If you would allow it?", Whumpee followed Caretaker's long strides.

"Yes", Caretaker nodded.

"How did you know about me, and what was going on?", Whumpee frowned.

"Several vampires who escaped those hunters brought to the masquerades' attention. To many were being killed by those hunters. That's why we acted so quickly", Caretaker sighed, "I also wanted to get you out of the situation. To be honest, some of the masquerade had intentions to murder you for being an accomplice, but I and a few other leaders denied them. Though everyone is now in agreement that you did not have a choice, there are still some who want you dead. I, of course, will not allow that to happen, but I do fear you will be with me for a long time."

Whumpee shuddered at the thought.

"Are you sure. Maybe I'd be better off dead. I'd be less of a problem for you... and others."

"Yes, you would be, but I would like to give you this chance to enjoy some freedom. I wish to take on responsibility for you if you'll let me", Caretaker grinned, "I'm old. I've been around for a long time, and am quite bored. I will take care of you. I promise."

Whumpee mouth opened to answer, but words were lost. They had never had someone who wished to take care of them.

"It's okay", Caretaker turned when they sensed Whumpee's uncertainty, "you don't have to say anything. I understand."

Whumpee nodded with a weak smile, "th..thankyou."

Caretaker nodded, "you're welcome."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

[letitbehurt]

Big fan of Whumpers who keep multiple Whumpees prisoner.

Maybe these Whumpees become something like friends during their captivity, trying to stay sane between Whumper’s visits. Maybe they’re not exactly fond of each other, but they have to work together to plan an escape.

Somehow, Whumper grows aware of this. And they realize they can use it.

[loonybun]

hi guys massive trigger warning for bugs and gore but like

one of my all time favorite ideas i’ve come up with for immortal whumpees is peeling back their epidermis and planting larvae inside, and then stitching it back up and waiting for the bugs to hatch. is it physically possible? probably not! but god damn if not for pain it’s still a sensory nightmare. i created this idea for a character of mine named callum. i love him a lot. even if he wants to put bugs under people’s skin.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

controversial whump opinion:

I really, really dislike using and reading "whumpee" and "whumper"

Like, yeah I get that it makes things easier to post and interpret and all that jazz. It's probably easier on our consciences instead of using actual, real-world terms like "victim" and "attacker" - and that's a very valid reason. It's another way to distance whump media from real-world scenarios because we don't actually want bad things to happen to real people (just our fictional blorbos pls n thx)

but, regardless, a tiny part of me just has an ick when whumpee and whumper is used.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper knew that the whumpee was wrapped around their finger now, constant torture and punishment had finally gotten the whumpee to shut up and listen. The whumper liked mocking the whumpee now- after all what would their friends think if they saw them like this?

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 19, 27, 28, 29

Sobbing | Dissociation | Stairs | Display | Last Resort | Numb | Gag | “I’m so cold.”

Please heed the warnings. Dead dove: do not eat.

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Contains: lady whump, aftermath of noncon/SA, dissociation, helplessness, hopelessness, restraints, gag, suicide attempt

WC: 950

Wet-paper petals

The body on the bed was still. It could move, but moving hurt. Moving dragged skin, reddened and burned by friction, over wool and cotton that mercilessly scratched. Moving shifted the light, illuminating blossoming bruises.

Bruises—broken blood vessels—temporary, violent purple in their prime, but not eternal.

Involuntary shivers wracked the body, however: the tiny tremors of limp, exhausted limbs. Bluish lips formed soundless pleas to no one: Please. I’m so cold. Please.

If there was only stillness, then there was no pain. Frigid numbness, perhaps, but numbness was bearable.

It was a body on garish display: arms spread wide and bound in place, showing off tender skin now marked. Adorned. Pink and abraded beneath the ties.

A body, and nothing else.

A door crashed open, casting a resounding clang throughout the room, and the illusion was shattered.

The maidservant stirred, bringing her knees as close to her chest as she could, her eyes squeezed shut. Please. No more. No more.

Footsteps slowly approached.

She tried to hold back a sob and failed, mewling into the leather tied around her mouth. It tasted foul: dust, sweat, oil. She couldn’t remember when it had wound up there, or where it had come from. A belt from a uniform, perhaps? It didn’t matter. It had served its purpose, stifling her frantic cries when her enemies decided they’d had enough of her tongue being free—after it, too, had served its purpose.

The footsteps halted, and her eyes flew open.

The soldier. He’d promised to kill her one day. He’d dragged her before the prince. He’d kept his distance, he hadn’t touched her. But he’d stayed silent.

He’d done nothing.

He reached toward her now, and she flinched, unable to disguise how she wept, condemned again to the indignity of freely flowing tears while he stood by and watched.

“No,” she begged. Some dried substance at the corner of her mouth cracked with the movement of her lips. “Please.”

He didn’t answer, but simply reached for her bound hands again; silently, he untied them. Torn strips of red fabric, ripped from a mass that had once been a gown, fell away. The soldier stepped back.

The maidservant fumbled with frozen, clumsy fingers and found she could not untie the leather belt. She pulled it from her mouth instead, letting it hang slick and dripping around her neck.

“Get dressed.”

Two words, a simple command, brimming with unbridled disgust.

She coaxed her unwilling limbs off the bed, stumbling toward the heap of once-ravishing silk, now ruined, stinking of pond-water and sweat. She struggled into it anyway, hungry for the scant warmth and comfort it would bring.

Her arms screamed, as unhappy free as they had been restrained. Her legs ached. Trembled. Burned.

The soldier said nothing, offering no release from . . . wherever she was. A dungeon cell? Perhaps. Likely. She dimly recalled stairs and windowless corridors. She’d fought and screamed and cried. Earned welts and bruises for her efforts.

Efforts ultimately in vain, like everything else she’d ever done.

An unexpected weight, hidden in the depths of the dress, bumped against her leg.

“Come here,” the soldier said. She looked up to find him watching her with narrowed eyes. The scratches on his face had clotted to perfect, parallel scabs, muddy brown in the poor light. “Move.”

She obeyed.

“Give me your hands.”

She did.

He tied them together in front of her, not torturously tight but securely enough that she could not wriggle free. She watched numbly, pretending those dirt-and-blood-stained fingers belonged to someone else. He thought he was being clever and cruel, lording his power and control over her yet again, protecting himself from another attack.

Didn’t he realize? She was done fighting.

Another tear slid down her cheek, splashing against his hands as he tied the final knot.

With a scowl, he shoved her away from him, back onto the cot with its mattress still damp. She caught herself clumsily, whimpering in pain. “Sit still and stay quiet while I find out what to do with you.”

He turned away.

When the lock clicked, that means of escape barred—not that it had ever been within her grasp—the maidservant felt for the makeshift pocket she had made what seemed like lifetimes ago.

I’m sorry.

She’d whispered those words to the food taster, and she’d meant them. What had become of him? Had the prince found him? Was he dead? Imprisoned? Coerced into bending to the prince’s darkest whims?

I’m sorry.

If only she’d had the chance to say those same pitiful, inadequate words to her brother.

Her stiff fingers struggled with the knots in her skirt. She wept, forcing them to keep working until, at long last, the knots came free.

She laid out the crushed flowers methodically, inspecting each. They were beautiful, even in death: wet-paper petals of soft yellow, like summer sun dimmed by mist. That colour, warm and lovely, hearkened back to golden days of long, long ago—before her life had been upended, ravaged, and utterly destroyed.

Back when her life was worth something.

She found two flowers with their poisonous spines intact and lifted them reverently from among their fellows.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but there was no one to hear, no one to see, and no one to mourn.

She sank the two sharp, spindle-like thorns into her fingertip; a cool sense of numbness spread outward. One prick, he’d promised, and you’ll be on the floor. What about two?

She fell, matted hair fanning out over the soiled mattress, poison coursing through exhausted veins.

A body, still living, but only just.

A broken heart, pulsing with strength enough to decorate her finger with a single, welling drop of blood.

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[whumpwillow]

okay so you all know creatures that feed off of suffering blah blah blah but what about creatures that feed off the happiness of others. a demon or something that can make people feel amazing with their powers and then siphons the happiness out of them, leaving them nothing more than an empty shell

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee hates spicy food. Even average taco seasoning is too much for them and they need to cool it off quickly. Whumper only feeds them spicy foods, so they either have to suffer through the pain and stomach aches or go hungry. Whumpee can't tell which is more painful.

[starryybrained]

Cheers!

Whumptober Day 14: [Alt. prompt] - Venom

Content: Venom, alcohol, immortal whumper, implied murder

Whumper likes to keep bottles of venom on their shelves.

They have an endless variety, sourced from every kind of creature, from snake venom to spider venom, all translucent and hidden away inside inconspicuous glasses.

The bottle of organic white wine is actually filled to the brim with venom that will kill the drinker within a minute, mixed with the finest locally-made white wine Whumper can buy. The bottle of Texan tequila holds nothing but snake venom and liquor, crystal-clear. They have a half-filled glass of brandy with a dash of spider venom.

Light from outside seeps in as Whumper opens the door to the liquor cabinet, glinting across the many glasses.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Oh, take your pick — surprise me!”

“Sure thing.” Whumper answers. Something light to drink, then. Whumper takes out a long-necked bottle filled with light, golden liquid, studying it. Richmond’s, it says on the label.

Such a fine brand.

They pour themself and their guest a glass, then walk back to the table, setting them at each place.

Whumper sits back, giving their guest a small, courteous smile.

They pick up the glass, holding it towards the center of the table, and their guest follows suit. The glasses clink, and Whumper offers a polite “Cheers,” and takes a sip. The alcohol tastes sweet and light, with a pop of berries and a twist of lemon.

… And the sharp, cloying taste of spider venom.

Whumper savors the taste.

Wonderful.