#intimate/creepy whumper

[a-living-canvas]

Porch Light

"...You sure you like him like this?"

Henchman asked. They leaned against the wall, watching Whumper cooing over Whumpee's drowsy state. He's already high enough, but Whumper kept feeding him with the rolled joint.

"He's sooo cute like this. Look at his face!"

Whumpee's eyes rolled back as he let out a soft whimper. Whumper giggled, amused at the sight. He caressed his cheek, guiding him gently.

"Shh…it's okay, little one. Just inhale it. You feel good right now, don't you?"

Whumpee blinked. "Mm…"

Henchman sighed as they walked out of the basement. They couldn't watch it anymore.

~

I'm back :)

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @failgiao891 @possumhoe @theforeverdyingperson @jennyyy007 @heyyitsworld @risk606 @valravnthefrenchie

@electrons2006♡

[mj-iza-writer]

Part 2 for the recent story where Whumper gets Whumpee back through questionable methods. Requested by @valravnthefrenchie

Whumpee snuck out of their room and cautiously slank down the hall. They would be in big trouble if their nurse or guard caught them sneaking out of the room while they were still healing.

Every hallway they came to, they carefully peered around the corner.

"What are you doing?"

Whumpee nearly jumped out of their skin. They had been caught.

They turned slowly and looked up.

"Master, I... uhm, was looking for you", Whumpee smiled weakly.

"Funny I was also looking for you, but you were not where you were supposed to be", Whumper sighed, "so now tell me the truth. What are you doing?"

"My uhm puzzle Master. I was wondering if it was still out, or if someone put it away. I haven't seen it in a few months", Whumpee frowned, "I'm sorry, I'll go back to my bed."

Whumper nodded, "it's still where you left it. I asked them to leave it for you to work on when you came home."

"You really did plan on me returning then?", Whumpee looked at them strangely.

"Yes", Whumper nodded, "it was always planned that you would return home. I just didn't know when. They wouldn't have dared killed you, not with what they wanted me to do."

Whumpee nodded.

"Alright back to bed with you", Whumper started to usher them back down the hall.

"I can't see it?", Whumpee looked at them sadly.

"Nope, because I know you will start working on it", Whumper frowned, "let's get back before your nurse sees you stan... uh oh."

"What?", Whumpee turned and went pale.

"Why...are... they out of bed?", the nurse rushed toward them red in the face. "You are fighting a high temperature still with that infection, and you are out of your room", they glared at Whumper.

"Don't look at me like that", Whumper threw their hands up in surrender, "I told them the same thing and was trying to get them to go back."

Whumpee grinned, "my great Master... afraid of a nurse?"

"Don't mess with nurses Whumpee", Whumper smiled back, "now go on, your puzzle has waited this long. It will survive a few more days."

Whumpee looked back at their nurse, "I'm sorry, I'm coming right now."

"You bet you are. You shouldn't even be up right now. You were napping when I left your room a few minutes ago", the nurse followed Whumpee down the hall, continuing to lecture them.

Whumper watched them until they were out of sight. They chuckled as they turned to go back to their office.

Whumpee winced as their nurse unbandaged their back.

"The doctor is going to come and check this for you. I'm going to clean it right now", their nurse sat on the edge of the bed.

"Does it look any better?", Whumpee moaned as their nurse gently ran a cloth along their back. It itched so much and they were not allowed to touch anything.

"That feels so good", Whumpee slowly blinked contently.

"It's not as bright red as it was, but it's still badly infected", the nurse sighed, "this is one of the worst cases I've seen of an infected wound. It would have been nice that you had gotten first aid from that Tyler, but even then this wouldn't have been helped. You've been fighting this for a very long time. No wonder you were so tired and weak."

Whumpee nodded, "please can you just scratch it a little for me... please?"

"I unfortunately can't. It would do it worse to scratch. It will become more itchy and cause you to want to scratch more. You could also hurt it more", the nurse frowned, "it's best not to scratch."

"It's torture, I'm tired of laying on my stomach also", Whumpee frowned.

"I know dear, and I'm sorry. I know it is hard for you to sit still, but we have to do what's best", the nurse rubbed their head gently, "soon though you will be able to get up and do things again. Just not right now."

Whumpee sadly nodded.

Whumper followed the doctor into the room and sat down by the window. They just wanted to hear what the doctors' thoughts were on the infection and why it was lasting so long. They had been growing more and more concerned over their dear pet's health.

"How does it look doc?", Whumper tried to break the silence of the room.

"Still infected, but we have some control over it now. It's not spreading anymore and is receding slowly", the doctor lifted Whumpee's shirt a little more, "overall I am pleased with how this is healing."

"Is it normal that it's taking so long though?", Whumper frowned.

"It can be normal. They have had this for a fairly long time. We are giving it what it needs and the body is dealing with it properly as well", the doctor frowned, "Whumpee's body went through a lot during the last few months. This isn't the only thing their body is healing. Their body is using a lot of its resources to heal and recuperate. That's why it is important to rest, continue on the diet that I set for you, and take the medicine. Everything is important to making sure your body has what it needs to heal."

Whumpee sighed, "so I still have to be in this bed?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so", the doctor laid their shirt down again, "I know you've been getting restless, but we can't push your body. You don't have the energy to spare for it."

Whumpee sighed sadly, "I'm so bored, and I'm so tired of laying here."

"I'm sorry Whumpee, unfortunately if we don't do what your body needs you will be sick for a long time", the doctor patted Whumpee's shoulder, "all other vitals seem to be doing great. Is there anything else that needs to be checked?"

"No", Whumpee whispered, "unless you can scratch my back for me... it's so itchy."

"I can not do that unfortunately, but I'll see if there is an ointment we can apply to relieve some of that."

"I would love that", Whumpee nodded.

"Whumper can I speak to you outside of the room", the doctor frowned.

Whumper stepped out into the hall with the doctor.

"You know I can only heal them physically right?", the doctor crossed their arms in frustration.

"Yes", Whumper frowned, "what do you mean?"

"They are depressed... I can imagine them having some PTSD from what they just went through as well. I can only heal them physically, but if their brain and heart remain unhealed they will get sick and in a way that I can't help with."

"So what should I do for them", Whumper frowned, "I want my dear one back. I'd do anything."

"Well I advise finding some form of therapy that can help them through this, and finding a way to entertain them."

Whumper nodded, "okay that sounds manageable."

Manageable now meant some poor soul was now tied up in the backseat of one Whumper's people and on the way to Whumper's compound.

"Where am I being taken?", the person questioned.

"You'll see", Whumper's employee answered.

"I'd rather not", they sighed.

Whumper looked up as their employees guided a person into their office.

"Is that the therapist?", Whumper grinned.

"Yes", they chuckled as they sat the person down, "they are a highly rated psychologist from what sources show. Perfect for what you need them for."

"Would someone tell me what the heck is going on", the person looked around, "where am I, and who are you?"

"My name is Whumper... you're currently sitting in my office in my compound", Whumper leaned back in their chair.

"Wh-Whumper? As in...?", they made a petrified face.

"The very one... I'm afraid I need your services", Whumper smiled.

"My, uh... my services?"

"Yes... you are about to meet someone very dear to my heart. They just came back from a kidnapping that lasted for a good several months. Their doctor says they are in good health, but is concerned with their mental health and heart health. The doctor recommended a therapist to help Whumpee. They seem depressed and has some PTSD as I understand it. I only want the best for them."

"So yo-you need me to help them... I can... yeah I can help. Mostly cause of the things I heard about you", they frowned, "how long.... how long do you think you'll need me for?", they pulled out their phone, "I'll ask staff to reschedule patients for me."

"Oh no worries... you'll live here now. Just like the doctor and nurses, that way I have easy access to you. Your payment will be all of your needs being met, and plus your life will be spared", Whumper snapped their fingers.

One of the employees took Caretaker's phone and threw it to Whumper.

"Live here.... now?", they frowned, "but."

"You unfortunately do not get a say... end of discussion", Whumper frowned as they set phone on the desk.

"My family?", the person frowned.

"Sources show you don't have one", someone spoke from behind.

They sighed.

"Hmm", Whumper chuckled, "what is your name?"

"Caretaker", they frowned, "I really have nothing to say that will change your mind?"

"Nope", Whumper stood, "shall we meet some of your new friends, then Whumpee... and we will get you settled in."

Caretaker gulped, but nodded.

They stopped by Whumpee's room, but their nurse quickly kicked them out as Whumpee had just fallen asleep.

"Sorry you'll be able to meet them later, this here is your room", Whumper opened one of the doors in the hall, "you'll find it comfortable."

"Are those my things?", Caretaker stared at boxes and suitcases.

"Yes. Oh good I didn't know they did that already", Whumper grinned.

"The compound has a lot of things to see. If you look up you'll see guards everywhere. They see you as well, you will not get far if you try to escape."

Caretaker almost cried after the face the doctor made when they were introduced.

"I'll leave you to it then. I'll come back when Whumpee wakes up", Whumper turned to leave.

The doctor followed them out.

"You said you weren't kidnapping anymore", the doctor whispered angrily at Whumper in the hall.

"You said yourself that I needed to have a psychologist see Whumpee. I can't take Whumpee to appointments, not with my lifestyle. You have been here long enough to know better. Whumpee is important to me, and if you felt this was someone that we needed to have here, then it needed to be done. If there's a problem, I can call a guard in here to straighten it out for you."

"No, that's not necessary", the doctor spoke through gritted teeth.

"Perfect. Show them around and tell them about this place", Whumper smiled, "you know I'm not as bad as I could be."

"Just because it could be worse.... doesn't mean it's okay", the doctor turned to go inside.

Whumper chuckled as they walked away.

Inside the room, the doctor turned to a few nurses and Caretaker.

"You can blame me for you getting kidnapped. They have another hostage named Whumpee, who has severe Stockholm syndrome, PTSD, and depression. They just got back from being kidnapped for several months. I want Whumpee to get better, and I forgot who I was talking to", the doctor frowned, "I am so sorry."

"What am I supposed to do then?", Caretaker frowned.

"Play along... do not trust anyone outside of this room.... not even Whumpee. They are so badly conditioned. Just do the job needed, and do not get into trouble. Whumper will dispose of those they do not need. If you value your life, don't step out of line."

"How do we get out of here?", Caretaker frowned, "how do you escape?"

"We don't", a nurse stepped forward and sadly replied, "right now the goal is to survive and pray."

Caretaker looked at the doctor sadly and nodded.

The doctor didn't trust Caretaker enough yet to tell them there may be a plan soon, but it was in the early stages. Honestly, only a guard and the doctor knew of the plan.... those were the only ones who needed to know right now.

Caretaker was taken to Whumpee's room by a guard.

Whumper sat next to the bed talking with Whumpee when Caretaker was brought in.

"Well hello Caretaker", Whumper smiled, "meet your new favorite patient."

Whumpee turned to look.

Caretaker almost gasped when they saw Whumpee and their back.

"It's okay, you can come closer", Whumper frowned, "we won't bite."

"Sorry I was... surprised by their back", Caretaker tried to fake a smile.

Whumpee looked down sadly.

"Yes, the doctor is working on it. We both hope it will heal soon", Whumper nodded as they patted Whumpee's head.

"I'll leave you to it", Whumper stood, "the guard will sit in and make sure you don't pull any funny business. I'm trusting someone very special into your care, so please take care of them."

Caretaker nodded and watched Whumper leave.

Whumpee shyly watched them sit down.

"Are you here to help my back heal faster?", Whumpee whispered.

"No, not for that", Caretaker said with late frustration in their voice, "I guess you have been displaying signs of depression and things like that. So what's going on? Your a...your Master is concerned."

Whumpee looked down sadly, having heard the frustration, "I'm sad and bored", Whumpee sighed, "ever since I was brought home, I've been trapped in bed."

"I see", Caretaker nodded.

"I miss my puzzle.... I was kidnapped and forced to be tied up for several months. Blindfolded and noise canceling headphones. A lot of things happened to me while there, some of which I don't feel comfortable talking about. I looked forward to coming home and being free to be able to do what I wanted, but I still feel trapped", Whumpee sighed, "but doctor says I have to rest, so I have a nurse or a guard in here all of the time, but they won't talk to me all of the time, and Master is busy. I just want...", Whumpee stopped talking.

Caretaker wanted to hate this person so bad.... this was why they were here, but they seemed so sweet. Caretaker's heart melted.

"You just want to be loved right?", Caretaker smiled.

Whumpee smiled weakly and nodded.

Whumper came back after a while and pulled Caretaker out into the hall.

"What are you thinking? What can be done?", Whumper actually seemed to be concerned.

"They seem to feel lonely. Those that are in there watching them are not interacting with them enough. They want interaction and love", Caretaker frowned, "I can help with that if you'd like. I'll stay with them throughout the day so they can get the interaction. The nurse and guard can do what they need to do with them. I can entertain them."

"That sounds good, but you will be under watch to make sure you aren't doing anything against the contract. You'll get a bullet between the eyes if you are found guilty", Whumper pointed gun fingers at Caretaker, "am I clear?"

"Crystal clear", Caretaker nodded, "can I be dismissed so that I can prepare some things and also talk to their doctor on care plans."

"Yes you may", Whumper nodded.

Caretaker went back into the med room where the doctor was working.

The doctor and nurses turned and looked at them.

"We need to get them out of here", Caretaker whispered, "we need to get out of here as well."

"We know", the doctor nodded, "they melted your heart didn't they?"

Caretaker nodded quickly.

"Same as us", the doctor nodded, "welcome to the team."

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

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@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie

[auroragehenna]

„Aww. Poor, little, defenseless Whumpee.“

[silencedvoices]

June of Doom Day 6

“They don’t care about you.”  | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

Content: manipulation, intimate whumper

Whumpee flinched as they heard the door to their cell open. Whumper walked in looking almost sympathetic, a look that could never be trusted coming from them.

Whumper sighed, "I just got off the phone with your team."

Whumpee perked their head up at that.

"They had a whole lot to say but I um... have something to tell you."

Whumpee was paying so much attention that Whumper thought their brain might explode.

"They agreed that they aren't coming back for you."

Whumper tried to hide their delight as Whumpee's eyes widened in disbelief like they were a puppy that just got kicked.

"What? You're lying. They wouldn't-"

"Oh, but yes they would." Whumpee shivered as Whumper looked them directly in the eyes walking towards them. "That's why they abandoned you in the first place."

"But... they wouldn't. I know my team better than you and... they wouldn't do that."

Whumper kneeled down in front of Whumpee, face filled with some form of concern but there was a fire in their eyes that Whumpee didn't want to acknowledge.

"Oh sweetheart, I hate to say this but... they don't care about you."

Whumpee's heart shattered in an instant. Deep down they knew their team thought lesser of them and probably weren't coming back, but to hear it straight from Whumper really set it in stone.

Whumpee broke down in tears as Whumper cradled them in their arms.

"Don't cry sweetheart. I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but you still have me."

This only made Whumpee cry harder as they melted in Whumper's arms. It felt so wrong, it was so wrong, but what else could they do? They didn't want to acknowledge it, but the only one they had left was Whumper. Even if they hated them. Even if Whumper had hurt them endlessly for so long. They didn't have a choice so they chose the only thing they could choose; to finally give in.

[paingoes]

Crash Out

Nimrod II

(Content: drugs, past abuse, guilt, guns, blades, female whumpee, female whumper, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, blood, alcohol, wound care, comfort)

Listening to the radio while he was high was always risky. It put him at its mercy. On this day, no matter what station played, the notes came out dark and ominous. He was sure it was not the radio’s fault, the way his thoughts drifted. But he wasn’t there enough to make sure. Whatever played, he kept thinking of her.

It wasn’t that he was viciously scarred. From each scuffle, he never walked away too injured. But there was too little time in between them to heal and they all compounded. He’d had to limp away, one day. It was almost too much. 

The fights were bad and the moments in between were worse. He felt impatient about it. There was a great sense of inevitability, knowing it was coming, almost willing it to. Then it would. Then it would be over. Then it would be time to wait again. 

Eight years old in the doctor’s office, tetanus shot. Is it going to hurt?

Yes, yes, it’s going to hurt.

Johanna always hit back. She gave just as good as she got. He’d learned to be careful about that. If he went for her eyes — which he never would have before, would have never been that desperate — she’d try and got for his right back. Hers would heal; his wouldn’t. He had to be careful not to maim her too bad when they were fighting.

But you have to be lucky always, and I only have to be lucky once.

The inevitability was the worst. She kept coming back. It was why he only walked away with bruises, little cuts, never taken down all the way but taken down a little each time until he couldn’t fight anymore. She’d been very lucky recently. She was having too much fun with it.

They were both unarmed at the last skirmish. It’d been devolving into a street fight, when she’d just reached out to slap him like she was annoyed at him. Or maybe just because she could. Her nails raked the side of his face, leaving stinging scratches along it. The whole effect was so disorienting that it had given her the win. He’d been too shocked to move after.

He hadn’t been slapped since he was a child. And he hadn’t been scraped up like that since Delta. But at least when Delta had done it, he knew the cuts were fucking clean. He worried just how many other people’s blood was beneath her nails, what diseases they might’ve been carrying. He had scrubbed at his face until the skin was red. 

He traced the new marks, using the same arm that Delta had scratched up so bad. That arm had new injuries now, but the claw marks were still visible just beneath them. If they hadn’t healed now, they probably never would. 

He remembered how flinchy Delta had been, even when he wasn’t getting hurt. He always expected it. Paris realized just how badly frayed his nerves must have been, living with that constant anticipation. He felt a little bad. As a general rule, he tried not to inflict anything that he hadn’t experienced himself. But he’d forgotten just how jarring it was to get slapped like that. Not painful as much as it was startling. Very effective. He’d done it to Delta like it was nothing, so regularly that the bruise never left his face. 

Paris’s own flinch response was just as bad now; he wondered if it’d stay that way forever. Delta’s had never gone away. It was worst right before the end.

Paris tried not to think about it.

========

Something hit the ground hard just behind her. She felt a sharp tug at her back.

“Hey there, little lady,” in a voice right next to her hear, soft and teasing. Johanna’s hand was wrapped around the grip of the gun. It was strapped too tightly for her to slip out of. She held her steady there. Lorelai stilled like a scruffed kitten.

“Out by your lonesome, daaarlin’?” She drawled in a mockery of her accent, the same way the kids at the school had. Even now, there was something playful in Johanna’s voice. Still, Lorelai bristled. She didn’t sound like that. 

She felt the weight leave her back as the knife cut through the strap. How sharp the blade must’ve been to move so cleanly. The gun was pulled away from her body. Johanna threw it a good distance into the bush, all the way out of her sight. For a moment, nothing held her there. Lorelai lurched forward suddenly, but was quickly pulled back by the new grip on her wrist. Bruising touch. Johanna spun her back around, pushing her up against the tree. The bark pricked against her face.

“Hold still,” Johanna folded Lorelai’s arms behind her head. She felt the leather gloves traveling over her, patting down her body for any other weapons. There were none. The other gun was still in the ship.

“He’s not even here,” Lorelai said quietly, not moving. 

“Yeah, I know.” Johanna spun her back around to face her. She had a shark smile. It was scarier when she was dead, but it wasn’t much better when she was alive. “It’s just business with him. With you, it’s personal.”

Wrist grip. She should’ve known how to escape it, but the knife in the offhand changed things. Nothing stopping her, she’d been warned. Lorelai Winn was not wanted alive. Her wrist was held firm, tight, pulled back past the other girl’s hip while brandished the knife right by her face. 

“Paris gets what he gives. Not like you. You’re a runner. All those shots and not a scar to show for it.”

She squeaked. The sound embarrassed her, but the pressure on her wrist was getting bad. It got worse when she tried to pull away. She brought her free arm up in front of her, but the thought of having to protect her body with more body, of having to make the knife drive through her arm before it could get the rest of her, made her dizzy enough to faint.

“I’m not - I don’t - um - aah?” She pulled back abruptly, unsuccessfully, as the knife came up to her throat. It was all panic then. She kicked out hard against Johanna’s calves, kneeing her in the stomach. The grip didn’t release — Johanna only pulled her closer — but they did roll. Johanna threw her down onto the ground and landed just on top of her. 

Her wrist was turning purple where it was pinned above her head. Johanna cooed when she struggled. Fuck, she was strong. She positioned her body like it was a cage, bones over bones, pressure on the pressure points. 

Johanna briefly held the knife between her teeth as she trapped Lorelai’s other wrist. Once they were together, Johanna could hold them both down with one hand. She took the knife out of her mouth and spun it.

“You’re in my way a lot, y’know that?” Johanna asked, all her humor gone. Lorelai struggled beneath her, but even the minute movements hurt with how she was pinned. 

“You and that damn gun. I’ve always hated them. You don’t need skill to shoot a gun. You don’t even need to know what you’re doing. And you don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing when you’re pulling that trigger, do you?”

Incredibly, Lorelai still found it somewhere within her to be offended. Shooting was second nature to her. She was the state champion. She understood well enough. That thought was cut short as the knife skimmed her jaw.

“That’s what the distance does. Fifty yards effective range on that gun, I’d bet. How are you gonna learn anything all the way over there? You don’t know about violence. You don’t know about pain. You know what it feels like to be shot, Lorry? It doesn’t feel good!”

She tilted the knife at each word, from edge to point. Little pinpricks of blood appeared in four places. It was almost too sharp to feel. Almost. Lorelai cried out in fear, driving her knee up into Johanna’s stomach. The huntress seemed more bothered by the noise than the blow.

“Oh shut up,” Johanna let her arms free abruptly, sitting up so she was just straddling her lap.

She pushed Johanna off. Johanna fell back easily to let her up, giving her a few seconds to scramble away. Away — not upwards. The minute she started to rise, Johanna yanked her back by the end of her dress, straight back into the dirt. The knife turned over in her hand right before it slashed down against her forearm. Lorelai screamed.

“Yeah, it fucking hurts, right?!?!”

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

She’d never been good with pain, couldn’t handle the sight of her own blood. The candy red color of it splashed down onto her dress, spilling like a faucet, scaring her so much she could not breathe. She didn’t even know if she could move it, the sight of it now foreign to her, the whole limb made alien by the gore. She sobbed on the ground.

Johanna clambered to her feet, standing over her, spinning the knife. 

“You got me in the head sometimes. If we’re being even, I should carve out your sphenoid. But mostly you just got me in the chest. We can start there.”

Lorelai was writhing too much to get a good angle, but she still pressed the blade just by her breastbone. She felt just the tip of it enter.

But it was Johanna’s chest that got punctured through. The blade emerged from it suddenly, right through the heart with practiced grace. Lorelai watched as the sword turned inside her clockwise, as it it was a key. The flesh made a soft squishing sound as it was twisted, though she only just heard it over the sound of her own crying. 

The blade withdrew. Paris let Johanna’s body fall to the side. Her vision was too blurred by tears to make out his expression, but he knelt down on the ground beside her. 

“Let me see.” 

Her arm hurt too bad to move, too much to even clutch. She held it out fearfully, as if keeping it away from her body would keep the hurt from reaching her. He touched it gingerly, keeping the wound level to avoid spillage. He pressed the handkerchief over it. The blood soaked through immediately.

“Hold it there, please.” His voice was calmer than it had any right to be. It was all field training. 

She shook her head no. It hurt too bad. She’d get the blood on her hand.

He reached over for Johanna’s knife, cutting a strip of fabric off of her jacket. He tied it in a tourniquet above Lorelai’s elbow. She winced at the tightness. She couldn’t think of anything but the pain. 

Johanna’s body twitched a little. Lorelai yelped. Paris stabbed it again, in the same spot.

“Leave it in,” Lorelai managed through sobs. They hadn’t tried it yet. Paris left the sword wedged into the ground with Johanna’s body still wrapped around it. He quickly retrieved the shotgun from among the brambles and returned to her side.

========

The ship was in autopilot as it coasted through space. He’d climbed back into the backseat with her, cross-legged with the kit in his lap. Lorelai breathed irregularly, still holding her arm out like it’d bite her, crying endlessly.

“I’m just going to clean it. Just water. I promise it won’t hurt.” His hands hesitated around the knot. She nodded weakly. He slipped the gloves on, letting the handkerchief fall onto the ship floor. The whole thing would need to be deep cleaned after this. He unscrewed the water bottle with one hand, emptying it over the wound. It splashed loudly as it ran off of her arm and onto the floor. 

Lorelai whimpered, unable to even look at it. She sobbed when she felt fingers traced it, the towel pushing over it.

“Is it bad?” Her breath hitched badly. There was mucus in the back of her throat.

His expression told her everything she needed to know. She bawled.

“No. No, it’s not bad,” he said unconvincingly. 

She shook her head, losing it.

“Lorry, it’s not bad. I know it…hurts a lot, probably, but the cut was clean. The tissue’s barely damaged,” he insisted. 

He paused like he was searching for something in her expression. After a minute, he seemed to come to a decision. He sighed.

“Here.” He reached into the back for one of the high ABV spirits. For a brief and terrible second, she thought he was going to pour it over the wound. But he just pushed it into the hand of her uninjured arm. She took it gratefully, drinking it quickly in spite of the way it burned her throat. She wished it could kick in faster.

“I’m just putting the antiseptic on. Not the burning kind. Won’t hurt.” He concentrated back in on the wound. She felt the coldness, then the pressure as the bandages wound around her arm. She glanced back down. All of it was covered; it wasn’t as large as it had looked with the blood everywhere. Her crying slowed a little.

His fingers slid down to her wrist. It was discolored — a swollen, shifting purple. She winced even at the minimal pressure.

“Can you move it?” He tilted her palm up a bit. “I know it hurts, but can you move it?”

She sniffled. He rotated it slowly. She let out a soft cry when it moved too far to the side, but it was a dull pain. Just bruised. He let it return to its natural position. His thumb soothed over the skin on the back of her hand. He kissed her knuckles, bloodied as they were.

========

By the time the alcohol wore off, the pain was already better. She laid fully reclined in the passenger seat, holding the bandaged arm over her forehead. She held it up to examine it.

“It’s really okay?” She asked in a soft voice.

“It’ll be fine. I want to put surgical glue on it when we stop somewhere, but I don’t think you  even need it.”

“Then why did you look at me that way?” She was sure she’d seen it. The fear in his eyes. 

She couldn’t see his expression now, but he rolled his shoulder a bit, the way he did when he wanted to avoid conversations. She’d seen it too frequently not to recognize the tell. After a few moments, he relented.

“…I just didn’t expect you to cry like that.”

She frowned. For the strangest reason, she felt like she should apologize.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[whumpshaped]

tw noncon surgery, gore, intimate/creepy whumper, noncon kiss, noncon drugging

"Look at me."

Whumpee found it hard to comply. Whatever drugs were in their system, they made it extremely difficult to listen to what Whumper was telling them. Still, they slowly turned their head to be able to look at them, unfocused eyes settling on their captor.

"Can you feel it?" they asked softly, with an eerie smile on their face.

"Huh..?" When Whumper glanced down, they followed their gaze... only to find that their chest had been opened up, and Whumper's hand was buried wrist-deep inside. They couldn't bring themself to freak out, not with the amount of sedatives they'd been fed.

"Can you feel my hand against your heart, love?"

"Yeah..." They could, faintly, now that Whumper had mentioned it. It was uncomfortable and strange. "Stop... stop it..."

"Stop? Don't be silly." Whumper leaned down and pressed a little kiss to their lips, at the same time squeezing their heart some more. "I didn't open you up for a couple seconds' worth of fun."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #17: Dirt and Oranges

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This chapter is a bit chunky! Hope it makes up for the wait LMFAO. word count:3.9k CW: emotional whump, gaslighting, dissociation, some amnesia, ableism, POC whump, fade to black noncon, self deprecating, hand feeding, confinement, captivity, mentions of minor whump (blink and you miss it), aftermath of hand whump, disability whump, let me know if I missed anything

The hayloft wasn’t too bad. He had a thin blanket for the night time and every few days, Xavier or Jesse switched the manacle on his ankle to the other so it didn’t chafe too much. All he had to do was behave. Wake up with the sun and when he saw the top of their hair above the ladder, he waited on his knees. His knees were bruised constantly and so was what little was left of his ego. 

Xavier had started to let him down in the barn to clean the stalls, start polishing the saddles, and cleaning the tools. He’d even been given a bucket and a towel, told to clean his own blood off the barn wall. Blood stained. Migel didn’t know that before he started to scrub at the wall with cramping hands. Ah yes. His hands. His hands were, quite plainly, fucked to all hell. His left hand was better off. It always felt tight and there was a scar right in the middle of his palm, circular where it always hurt the most. His right hand. His right hand was the worst of it. It had been set as best as it could, but his fingers still looked wrong. Some of them still bent a little the wrong way. That was the least of his problems though.The problem was the way his hand was curled like he was about to make a fist but stopped midway through. Straightening his fingers outward was excruciating and curling into a real fist was also painful. 

Looking at them too much made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. So mostly he just avoided looking. But signing had become an arduous process too. It made him angry, even though it wasn’t allowed. Somehow, Xavier had been patient with him when he was figuring out how to grab the rake to clean out the stalls. Even offering advice and helping him figure out a grip. Xaviers mood swings made Miguel dizzy sometimes. 

There was a brightside. Jesse was still mostly the same. The torment was the same. Fake sweetness followed by an angry backhand to the face. Mocking the state of his hands and then softly massaging them so that they felt better. The push and pull was familiar. He was used to that. Xavier had been oddly sweet… Just sweet. Providing words of encouragement and comfort. He hadn’t hurt him in weeks. Miguel preferred him when he was playing mind games. Maybe it was because he had stopped fighting. He didn’t know. Most of the time.. He was too tired to really try and figure it out either. 

Today the rays coming through the barn window were soft and warm on his face as he awoke. He half wanted to go back to sleep. But they would have his head if he was still asleep when they came up the ladder. He pushed himself up on his cot, tried to do the exercises for his hands that Solomon had given to him. When that failed, he stared at the wall, trying to remember what got him here. 

Miguel had lost time. That much he knew. There was a period of time he didn’t remember. After Jesse.. In Solomon's bed.. He shook himself  free of the memory. It was better if he didn’t remember. He could stand missing time. It had happened many times before. To be honest, Miguel didn’t remember much of his first year here. The entirety of his thirteenth year of life was a distant blur, only recalling bits and pieces. He didn’t feel like trying to remember. It wasn’t worth it.

There were certain memories that stood out among the rest. A gun hot and heavy in his hands pointed at Xaviers face, burning pain on his chest, the smell of melted skin, and lots of darkness. He spent so much time blindfolded when he was thirteen, unaware of his surroundings. Moving through the darkness like drowning in a lake. Miguel mostly just accepted that he would never know exactly what they did to him that year. 

He did wish he remembered some things before he was taken. He had siblings once. He knew that. His sister's faces were fuzzy. Sophia had dark hair that curled into a nest on her head and was shorter than him even though she was older. Marisol’s hair was longer and more brown. She had soft hands. He remembered Jaime the most though. He was smaller than him. The smallest of the four of them. Jaime used to run around a lot. His father used to call him travieso, but he would smile while he did. Miguel assumed that was because for all the mischief his brother liked to cause, he was harmless. 

Harmless fun. When was the last time he had that? Before Xavier? Before he could remember? Miguel tried to hold onto their faces, to the way they looked when they laughed. But they were fading. All of them were fading away from him like water through his hands. The tighter he held, the more they slipped away from him. It had been eight years since he’d seen their faces or felt their touch. All of it seemed to escape from him. They never came for him. He remembered that. His parents gave him up to a devil, demiono, and never even tried. Miguel shouldn’t be thinking about them at all. Yet here he was, lost in his thoughts, wondering what life could have been if they had at least tried. 

It wouldn’t have made a difference, but at least he would have known he was loved once. Real love. Not whatever Xavier and Jesse had to show him. Jesse’s constant need to be feared and loved at the same time. Xavier’s desperateness for Miguel to rely on him for everything. None of it was real love. He wondered if the two of them ever had been held or hugged. If someone had hugged them when they needed it, would they have been different? Could they ever be different? 

Miguel was thinking too much again. He did that sometimes. His mind always moved faster and faster until they dug him into a hole he couldn’t get out of. Sometimes, when he thought too much, a sinking feeling would rise in his chest. Make him feel like a cave, hollow and dark. When he felt hollow, he would go to Solomon, help him with his chores. Make up new ones to keep himself occupied until the feeling passed. If the feeling didn’t pass, sometimes his chest collapsed. It never actually collapsed, it only felt like it did. Like all the emotions and memories were sitting on his chest at all times and sometimes they broke his bones. Then everything was painful and it was hard to breathe. 

It happened sometimes before he came to the ranch. When it did, his father would hold him close to his chest, make Miguel feel his pulse, and hum. The vibrations were always calming, following along with the pulse, his fathers steady breathing. Solomon would hold him sometimes. But now all he felt was a sinking emptiness in the pit of his stomach the longer and longer he spent alone in the hayloft. He’d grown so used to company. To the feeling of other people around. Especially Solomon. Miguel had forgotten what it was like to feel lonely. 

Loneliness was killing him. So much so that he had begun to look forward to his visits from Jesse and Xavier. Heart racing when he saw them. Even if it was just to make sure the manacle hadn’t chafed his ankle too much, give him food or water, and take out his waste bucket. Simple things like Xavier running a hand through his hair, or Jesse wrapping a hand around his throat made him ache for more touch. More anything. At least now he had jobs to do. Taking care of the barn, cleaning the saddles and boots when they came back from rides. He cherished his time down from the hayloft. Even if he was watched like a hawk all of the time. Even if no one dared to talk or look at him. 

Today was no different. When he saw the shocking red hair appear from the ladder, he got on his knees. At least they didn’t hurt anymore when he did it. Or maybe they did, he was just used to it by now. 

Jesse had a bucket in one hand, and his other hand was behind his back, hiding something. What was he hiding? It made his stomach sink to his knees too. 

Morning mutt, Jesse said, grinning from ear to ear. Walking toward him and putting down the bucket with a thud. He looked up and squinted at Jesse’s face. He seemed chipper. Happy and less angry. There was something wrong here. Miguel moved to look at the bucket but Jesse grabbed at his hair, pulling him back and making his neck arch painfully. He whined, breathing picking up. Maybe Jesse is in a mood today. 

Jesse lifted Miguel to be face to face with him, making Miguel grunt and one hand wrapped around Jesse’s wrist. 

Close your eyes and open your mouth for me kid, Jesse said, licking inside his ear again just to see him squirm. Miguel came to a realization of what he wanted from him. Was this the reason for being so chipper? He just wanted a hole to fuck? Open them and I’ll get out the blindfold and the bridle and I’ll leave you like that to do your chores. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Jesse’s done that. Left him to his own devices when he’s blindfolded. He wouldn’t doubt that Jesse would do it again. So he just closed his eyes and tried to relax. Let his mouth hang open as Jesse slowly lowered him back down, releasing his hair. Miguel only wanted to be done. Get his breakfast, do his chores, come back and sleep. That was all he wanted. The darkness was enough to try and consume his thoughts. He waited for the salty taste of sweat and come on his tongue. Nothing came. 

Not for a while at least. Miguel’s mouth was getting dry from sucking breaths in through it. Then something was placed in his mouth, soft and almost pillowy. A finger under his chin pushed slightly to make him close his jaw. Miguel bit into the citrus in his mouth, cool juice exploding over his tongue. The taste was sweet and tart, spreading into every corner of his mouth. He chewed and he let it sit a bit longer before he swallowed. He opened his mouth again eagerly, awaiting another slice. A finger tapped against his eyelids and Miguel opened his eyes, staring up at Jesse with an orange in his hand. 

He was smiling. Good right? You want some more? 

Miguel kept his mouth open, nodding. He wanted more of that orange, he hadn’t had much more than stale bread and water for his time in the hayloft. It was the sweetest thing he’d had in a while. 

Two more slices of orange were placed in his mouth and he chewed greedily. Tongue slipping over Jesse’s fingers that sullied the taste a bit with dirt. He didn’t care. Miguel no longer cared about much anymore.The shattered remains of his dignity were on the floor in front of him. Along with drops of his blood. And the last of it was being stolen from his body from fingers that tasted of dirt and oranges.

He could barely remember what it felt to be a person anymore. If he ever was one in the first place.

You’re being real good today aren’t you? Here’s some more, Jesse said, an amused smile on his face as he gently placed another slice on his tongue. With every slice, Miguel could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into desperation. He was desperate for more of the sweetness, even if it was made slightly bitter by the taste of dirt. Dirt and oranges. Was this what had become of him? Begging for scraps. 

My uncle got them for Hen. She asked for some from the market. I managed to steal some from the crate before– Miguel didn’t see the rest of what Jesse said. He had turned away from him and Miguel whined as Jesse stepped back. Jesse wore that same grin as he did, wiping his hand on his pants to try and rid himself of the juices from the orange. I don’t have any more, mutt. If you’re real good today, maybe you’ll get some more before I take you back. 

With that, Jesse flicked out his hand. The man tilted his head slightly to the side. Clean my hand, you can have the last of the juice. 

Miguel burned with shame as he moved, grabbing Jesse’s fingers and sucking on them. 

Dirt and oranges. He wished Jesse always tasted like this. Jesse’s fingers were rough and calloused, but he did his best. Swirling his tongue around them, in between, trying to get at every last taste of orange. Jesse pulled his hand back and a trail of saliva came away, connecting Miguel's mouth to Jesse’s hand. He almost retched at the sight. Disgusted with himself.. with Jesse. With his predicament. All of it was almost too much. He was angry and tired and he just wanted to sleep. 

Instead, Jesse moved to unlock the manacle from his ankle. The skin there, angry and red. It was time to switch legs when they got back. 

The rest of Miguel’s day went in a blur. He was far away. Following instructions. Cleaning the horses, washing them as Jesse watched with mock interest. He cleaned the bridles, including the one that was reserved for him. He didn’t think about it. Miguel found that when he didn’t think as much, everything got easier. 

Brush, clean, walk. Brush, clean, walk. Taking walks with Jesse or Xavier had become normal as well. Jesse walked with him around the ranch, taking the black draft horse with them. It walked behind them at a leisurely pace. They didn’t talk. Jesse was unusually quiet and it filled Miguel with dread. Sinking into his stomach and into his legs. They turned around to go back to the bark, a breeze making the day cooler. A minor help from the brazing sun hot on the back of neck. 

Jesse waved to get his attention and Miguel looked at the other man. 

Do you ever think about them? Your family before you came here? 

Miguel frowned. He wasn’t allowed to think about them. Let alone talk about them. He narrowed his eyes at Jesse, cautious. Why was he asking this? Why did Jesse look so tired? What was happening outside the hayloft that was making Jesse ask questions that weren’t allowed? The hair on the back of his neck raised, sensing some sort of danger. Miguel shrugged in response to the question, an attempt of playing it safe. 

Sometimes I think about my mother before I came here. Do you think about yours?

A memory shattered through the fog in the back of his brain. His mother running her hands through his hair, untangling the curls. Gentle fingers rubbing his earlobes, the soft rumbling vibrations that meant laughter. The tiredness that came from being safe in his mothers lap. 

Miguel found himself nodding without his permission. Jesse nodded along with him. It was almost normal. A conversation he would have had with a friend. Precious and intimate. Miguel couldn’t let himself feel like that though. If he started to think of Jesse as more than just the person who hurt him, he’d never make it out alive. 

Don’t worry. I miss my mom too. I won’t tell Xavier. 

He took that sentence, those words and held them close to himself. Jesse was just another person who missed his mom. Miguel didn’t know what to do with that information. He could throw it out, leave it with the rest of the darkness he didn’t remember. Or he could keep it close, a reminder that Jesse was just a person. A bad person. But a person nonetheless. Miguel decided that he would save a decision like that for later. 

The man walked on. Leading the horse back to the dreaded barn, back to the hayloft. Back to where everything would be awful again. He suppressed a shudder. Keeping his head straight, not looking at Jesse. Not ignoring him but not inviting him in for more conversation either. Miguel no longer wanted to think about mothers and fathers and brothers. He just wanted to put the horse back in the stable and make it back to the hayloft in one piece. 

Something caught his eye, a movement to his left. It made his heart stop, his stomach drop. Miguel's hands tightened their grip on the lead of the horse, the pain somewhere distant. Everything else was distant. Solomon was walking out of the house, down the steps. Staring at him too. How long had it been? How long since he’d even been allowed to ask if the man was alive? Something in him compelled him to let go of the horse's lead. He took a step toward Solomon. Solomon took a step toward him. Signing something, saying something. 

His face was bruised to all hell, brown skin covered in fading green and yellow blotches. Solomon's eyes looked so tired. So fearful. Miguel couldn’t help himself. He ran toward the man. The man who helped him, who raised him, who never once left his side unless he was forced to. He took only a few steps before a hand wrapped around his waist and yanked him backwards. Solomon stopped in his tracks. Literally feet away, if Miguel reached he could almost touch him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug and let himself be held by the only person who ever provided any true comfort. But the arm around his waist started to drag him backwards. 

Something in him ignited. He fought, kicking and dragging his heels in the dirt. Nails digging into Jesse’s freckled skin on his arms. Drawing blood. There was a sinking feeling as Jesse continued to drag him. Solomon took a few steps forward, reached out to him. Miguel reached back out to him and their fingers touched. A tingling spread through him and he could feel his throat tighten. He was so close, so close and he was being dragged away again. 

Was it worth it? To hug the man he considered a father? Was it worth the punishment that awaited him? His body seemed to act again without his permission as he threw his head backwards. Skull cracking against Jesse’s lips. Jesse’s arm around him loosened and he wiggled out of the hold, sprinting toward his caretaker until his arms were wrapped around Solomon’s waist. Breathing in his scent. 

Solomon always smelled of earth and rosemary. Arms wrapped tightly around him and Miguel buried his face into the man's chest. Solomon was warm and safe. Every memory he had that was ever good of his time here included Solomon. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. If he did, he was afraid that he would never be able to see him again. Something in his chest broke. Shattered right into pieces. And it released out his eyes and mouth, flowing out of him like a river. Was he screaming? Wailing? There was wetness on Solomon's shirt and Miguel wailed harder. Hands curling into the soft fabric of his clothes. His whole body shuddered with his cries. 

Slowly, gently, Solomon lowered them both to sit on the ground. Miguel in his lap and curled into his shirt. Sobbing softly at the warmth of another person. Solomon slowly rocked Miguel back and forth, holding him like a small child, until his cries stopped. When he stopped, Miguel finally found the courage to look Solomon in the eye. 

Hello she’awee. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Jesse’s going to take you now. You go with him. You go with him and you live and you keep on going. Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel took in a shuddering breath as Solomon wiped his tears. Jesse’s cold and calloused hand yanked him by the shirt into a standing position. Shoving him to move forward. Away from Solomon who stayed on the ground. He forced himself to look ahead, to not look back. If he looked back he wouldn’t make it. With every step a part of him faded deeper and deeper into itself. Until when they were back into the barn and the world smelled of horse manure again, he was no longer there. 

He was outside his body, watching Jesse march him up the ladder. Watching as Jesse shoved him down to his knees and locked the manacle around his ankle again. 

Don’t fucking.. Come back. You asshole, Jesse said, slapping him across the face. Miguel blinked and he was back in his body. Seeing it through fresh eyes. Looking up at Jesse. You with me? 

“Yes.” Miguel answered lamely with his hand, tears welling in his eyes again. A sharp pain came across his cheek. 

Don’t you dare fucking cry. You fucking ran. You went to Sol, you’re not supposed to do that you fucking shit. I thought Xavier burned those rules into you. You aren’t even supposed to mention him and you fucking ran toward him. 

Oh. Oh he really was in trouble wasn’t he? Xavier was going to kill him this time. Or worse, kill Solomon. Jesse grabbed his chin with a bruising grip and he leaned in real close. Even his breath smelled of oranges and dirt. 

I won’t tell if you act like you want it. If you’re real convincing, I might even be gentle, he said, shoving Miguel backwards on his back. The wind knocked out of his chest. Miguel instinctively crawled backward. Are you angry yet Miguel? Jesse asked as he pulled tighter on the chain that held him. You can be angry. I promise. You wanna go back out? Go see Solomon?  Come on.. he drawled, crawling over Miguel on the floor. Hovering over him. Or do you wanna stay with me?

Nausea rose in his throat and he whimpered. But he brought a hand to Jesse’s chest and looked up at him 

“I want to stay with you,” he signed slowly. One hand snaking behind Jesse’s neck to pull him close. Pressing their lips together.  

Good boy. 

And Miguel closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden floor. 

He focused on the smell of dirt and oranges. He pretended that the scent was something comforting. Something easy to stomach. When Jesse was done, Miguel was hand fed another orange. He told himself he was content with that.

 He was still hungry. 

Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure how much left of him there would be by the time hope came round again. But maybe it would. Maybe it would and there would still be a piece or two left of him to save. He could be a better dog for someone else. For someone kind. 

__ TAGLIST:

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader @cyberwhumper

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[castlehillwhump]

Whumpy reinterpretation of the phrase “left on read” :

Whumpee’s screams echo down the long hallway- far more intense, and far more desperate than caretaker has heard before. It takes everything in him not to bust through the swinging laboratory doors and make it all stop, but that would compromise his position, and in the end it would only lead to whunpee’s anguish being amplified. So caretaker clenches his fist and breathes in for a count of 5. He can keep up this charade- he’s been so disciplined thus far. It’ll only be a few more weeks tops before he can rescue whumpee and get the hell out of this hellish compound for good. He can hold on.

But god whatever whumper’s done to whumpee this time has to be so incredibly cruel. Caretaker’s seen whumpee grit their teeth through hours of intense electro shocks and beatings without so much as a grunt. Caretaker looks back at his computer, trying to ignore the strangled sounds as he organizes the data into near columns.

He’s jerked from his thoughts as the door to the control room slams open. Caretaker looks up in time to see whumper stroll through the door, a giant grin spreading across her shark-like features. But whumpee’s screams are still bounding around the tiled space, despite whumper’s presence in the control room rather than the lab.

“Whumper!” Caretaker says, startled. He plasters a smile on his face. “It sounds like you’re making good progress in there!” He nods his head toward the lab.

Whumper pulls off her gloves and tosses them in a wastebin. She’s beaming. “I’ve finally gotten past the first layer.” Her voice is smooth, self-satisfied.

“Can I ask…” caretaker pauses, knowing that it’s a risky question, but unable to keep it from slipping through his lips. “What was it that broke them?”

Whumper takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as if reliving her big advancement. She shakes her head wistfully. “I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out, but nevertheless I’m a genius.” She looks at caretaker and winks. “I just left him on red”

She holds up the remote control in her hand with it’s dials painted from green to red, and caretaker’s heart plummets. No wonder whumpee’s screams sound so heart-wrenching. No one has ever endured red for longer than 5 minutes. Caretaker forces himself to grin back at whumper.

“Brilliant.”

Lmao why am I like this. Someone literally said yesterday that her friend got left on read, and this entire scenario just burst through my head. Everything is whumpy I guess. I guess this is just how my brain works… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway, hope you enjoy…

[whump-in-the-night]

Whumpee who's been on the run from some sort of organization/the government/whatever for a long time, finally getting captured.

Waking up in a facility in the middle of nowhere. Knowing that no one is coming to rescue them.

Whumper leaning over to whisper, "It's all going to be alright, we're going to take care of you now," before tenderly stroking whumpee's hair.

Maybe brainwashing is involved? Will whumpee ever be rescued/ever escape? What are whumper's plans?

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

The Five Stages of Grief

Denial - "This can't be happening" // "I'm going to wake up any minute...it's only a nightmare..." // "None of this real, it can't be!" // "There's been a mistake!" // "They...they wouldn't leave me like this, they'll come rescue me, they will!"

Anger - "You can't do this to me!" // "Fuck you, you fucking psychopath!" // "I don't have to listen to you!" // "You're a goddamn coward!" // "Let me out of here so I can break your neck!" // "You'll be sorry when they come find me, creep!"

Bargaining - "Please, no, anything but that!" // "N-not the cattle prod, please, I'll do whatever you want!" // "No, don't hurt them! Hurt me instead, I can take it!" // "I'll let you touch me however you want just please don't use that!" // "I'll tell you whatever you want if you just let me go!"

Depression - "Do whatever you want, what's the point?" // "I don't think I have anything left to scream for you" // "Just kill me and get it over with" // "Just...just leave me alone..." // "Why are they taking so long to find me? Don't they care? Don't they love me?"

Acceptance - "I knew I deserved this..." // "I'll be good, I promise" // "I love you, too" // "They were never looking for me, were they?" // "Yes, sir/ma'am" // "What do you mean 'leave'? I can't leave, that's against the rules"

[a-living-canvas]

;

"When will…you let me go?"

"I said in three days, didn't I?"

That's a lie. It's already been a week since the kidnapping. But Whumper wouldn't tell him that, he would drive him crazy until he finally breaks. 

Whumpee frowned in confusion. "Yes, you did but—"

"It's only been a few hours."

Words stuck in his throat as he stared at Whumper in disbelief. It couldn't be, right? "Y-you are lying—"

"I'm not lying, sweetheart." Whumper crouched down in front of Whumpee, smiling softly as he caressed his hair. "Be patient, hm?"

Whumpee's wide eyes relaxed slightly at the touch. He nodded in defeat. "Okay…"

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @failgiao891 @jennyyy007 @possumhoe @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @firebourne21 @heyyitsworld @risk606

@electrons2006♡

[eight-littlenightmares]

overly intimate whumpers who touch and hold their whumpees.

whumpees who a: have been there so long and are so touch-starved that they eventually just lean into it, or b: have been there as long as they can remember and think that’s what love is

caretakers who are horrified when they find out the reason whumpee braces themself when they’re hugged

caretakers being heartbroken at how touch-starved whumpee is, the way they’d do anything to be held

[auroragehenna]

Whump drabble

CW/TW: Hero whumpee, touchy whumper (SFW), reckless behavior, messed up dynamics, implied further whump Word count: 277

Hero stumbled up the steps of the stairs, barely holding on. He just needed to reach the doorbell. He had to-

The sharp ring of the doorbell overtuned his pained groans. Footsteps sounded from the other side of the the door and shortly after it swung open. Revealing an all too familiar woman standing in the doorway, inspecting him through cold eyes.

„I-Didn‘t know where else to go-“, hero groaned out, finally collapsing.

„Aww. No of course you didn‘t.“-The woman crouches down, clasping hero’s jaw and lifting his weak head. You must have been oh so truly desperate to come to me.“ She smiles, nails now digging into the others skin. She stands up, forcing him to follow her up and stand on shaky, weak legs. The woman's hand moving from hero's jaw to his throat. Squeezing but not really cutting off the airflow. Yet. „And you always fight with a devil may care attitude against Supervillain and the other villains. Always swinging because you know they're not the scariest thing that's out there. And yet“-she catches the hero's wrist-„You come crawling back to me. Injured, scared and alone. You're so perfect, little hero. Now let's get you inside, I should take care of those wounds before I do anything else, don't you think?“ Her hand slips off their throat, finally allowing him to draw a full breath again. Fingers travelling down his collarbone, over his shoulder and down his bare arm and she can feel him shudder under her touch as she pulls him inside, closing the door. She turns the key in the lock and then pulls it out, letting it dissapear into a pocket.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @bisexuawolfsalt, @greatkittencloud, @shattermind-8

[martyr-inthedark]

Bedroom

Let's just say Whumpee isn't kept in a dingy, dark, poorly-kept basement (or cell, or cage...).

Instead, Whumpee is kept in a beautiful bedroom. Maybe with the softest mattress, the fluffiest pillows, blankets made from quality furs and silks. The room is cleaned every day by Whumper's servants who bring Whumpee dinner and snacks are brought hot from the kitchens. But, freedom is limited, and true safety is nonexistent.

Guards are stood on a 24-hr schedule just outside the heavy spruce doors. Should Whumpee choose to stroll through the property, guards must accompany them. Servants were not discouraged from physically or otherwise abusing Whumpee, and were directed to report Whumpee's every move, every mistake, to Whumper. Whumpee wore a beautifully adorned collar, gold with radiant gems and small spikes on the inside it that bore a constant reminder of their situation. Whumper found it in his pleasure to pull on the collar and drag Whumpee back to that cursed bedroom should Whumpee make one wrong move in public. The next time Whumpee is allowed out, they are covered in bruises and freshly carved scabs.

The bedroom where the fire pokes are heated. Where iron shackles attached to the bedposts. Where clothes could be stripped. Where they could be drugged and left abandoned for days at a time. Where Whumpee could be forcibly held under their bathwater for two seconds too long. Where Whumpee had no choice but to relive the horrors of their day through nightmares. Where Whumper could sneak into their bed at night and take advantage of a sleeping Whumpee.

Where even the bed, with its velvet purple canopy and white furs, isn't safe.

[the-bloody-sadist]

Full on twt just in case it’s too intense for tumblr 💀 SEE HERE

I accidentally got addicted to HSR because of chicken wing boy by the way, didn’t expect to love aventurine while I was at it

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”