#manipulated whumpee

[auroragehenna]

Whumper: „Alright then, shall we go upstairs?“

Whumpee: „No. I‘m dead.“, said in a jokingly manner. Nervous. head on folded arms on the table, face buried. Going heavy and limp.

Whumper: „Come on.“ pulls on arm

Whumpee: „I‘m dead.“, said insistently

Whumper: „You‘re not dead. Get up.“ pulls on arm aggressively, nearly pulling off the chair.

Whumpee: „Okay…Okay……“, get‘s up

[whump-in-the-closet]

dialogue prompts for traitor whumpees

(cws in tags)

the betrayed:

"What are you doing? Why did you lock...why did you lock the door?"

"No! Stop, you can't do this!"

"You don't have to do this."

"I thought I could trust you."

"When I get out of this-- when, not if-- when I get out, you're going to wish you were dead."

"Fucker. I always knew you were trouble. No one else listened, did they? They took in your sob story and swallowed it whole."

"Oh, you're sorry? You're sorry? Why don't you run back to your master like the dog you are?"

"Fuck off."

"I don't want to hear it. I don't!"

"We should have never trusted you. We should have never helped you."

"You're going to regret this, I promise you."

the betrayer:

"I'm...so sorry."

"Its for your own good."

"This was the only way, you don't understand."

"I'm sorry-- I had to, they forced me-- please, please forgive me."

"This would be much easier for you if you just held still."

"Oh? Are the handcuffs a little tight? Do they pinch? My bad, let me just cut off your circulation here."

"This is very satisfying, I have to admit. And just the tiniest bit humorous."

"Someone gag them. They never know when to shut up."

"You really should have known better."

"Why on earth did you think I ever needed your help?"

"It was me or you, old friend. And I really prioritize survival over any relationship."

"It's nothing personal. It just had to be done."

"I may regret this, I may not. At least I'll be alive to regret it."

"You don't understand what they did to me. You will though. Soon."

"Oh shut up, this isn't even the worst part."

"I had no idea some of the most brilliant minds in the world were so... gullible."

"God, you lot were stupid. You...followed me into a basement. Seriously, what is up with that?"

[entity56]

Whumpee's skin prickles every time the makeup brush wipes against a bruise or cut, but they dare not move an inch. Their hands bound behind them, all they can manage is to dig their nails into their palms as Whumper brushes on the concealer, then the foundation, to their neck and face. They clench their teeth, both to avoid moving their jaw and to avoid making a peep as Whumper works on their battered face.

Whumper didn't seem the least bit stressed, by contrast. In fact, they practically floated as they walked back and forth from their makeup tray to Whumpee. They hummed an unrecognizable tune, stopping every so often to take a sharp breath in. It would be soothing if not given the situation.

The vent blows cool air up Whumpee's legs, through the fabric of their expensive clothes, giving them goosebumps. Whumpee can't tell if the shivering is from the cold or the fear.

As Whumper sits back down on their cushioned stool in front of them, they cock their head and tsk disapprovingly.

"Darling, what's wrong?" they ask. "Why are you shaking?"

They lean back a bit to observe the fine garments adorning their malnourished body, and squint.

"Are the clothes I got you not good enough?"

Whumpee stares uneasily. Did they expect an answer? Movement? Last time they'd spoken without permission, they'd been decked across the face. The silence seems to displease Whumper, and they put the makeup brush down and cross their arms.

"When I ask you a question, you answer. Are you really that ungrateful?" they ask. Whumpee's throat constricts with dehydration, and they gulp thickly and clear their throat before attempting to respond.

"N-- ugh. No," they cough, casting their eyes down to Whumper's knees. "I'm not. Thank you."

"Thank you...?" Whumper prods.

"...Thank you, sweetheart." The words leaving Whumpee's mouth made them sick, but they heard Whumper giggle a little.

"That's better!" they chirp as they pick their makeup brush back up. "Now, eyes back on me. We wouldn't want to smudge your makeup, now, would we? All that work on your pretty little face would be such a shame." They snap their fingers. "Eyes on me, darl."

Whumpee looks back up at Whumper, into their eyes, piercing, almost painful to look at. They shut slightly as Whumper smiles and sets back to work on their foundation. The humming resumes, this time in a recognizable tune-- 'You Are My Sunshine'-- and Whumpee tenses up again. Stiff as a statue; don't move an inch. Don't move an inch. Don't move an inch.

The makeup was itchy and caked onto Whumpee's face like mud. They were grateful their hands were bound, or they'd try to wipe it off themselves. That didn't mean it wouldn't drive them crazy, of course, but at least there wasn't any risk of getting in trouble.

Whumper sighs as they cover the last inch of Whumpee's face, and they stand up and walk back to the makeup tray.

"You know what, Whumpee?" they say lightly, as if discussing the weather, as they browse the eye shadow. "Hold on-- look at me, maybe warm tones?-- Whumpee, you're absolutely beautiful. It's as though you've walked directly out of a painting, hmm? I could just stare at you... all day..."

Whumpee stares at them silently as they pause, collecting their thoughts. They turn over their shoulder at them, studying them hard, as though the next time they'd turn around, Whumpee would be gone.

"So I don't understand... why are you making me taint your beauty?" they ask sadly, resting a hand against their cheek. "Why would you work so hard against me? Why would you make me need to leave such ugly marks?"

Anger-- and shame?-- bubble up in Whumpee's stomach, and they cast their eyes back downwards. They feel their ears heat up with the emotion, and they wish in that moment that they could just be back in bed, even if it was next to this horrible, horrible individual. At least the blankets were warm.

"Answer me," Whumper demands, a slight note of irritation in their voice. Whumpee hears their foot tapping against the tile.

"I'm not making you do anything," they say quietly, their voice wavering as they spoke.

"Hm?" Whumper questions, furrowing their eyebrows and setting down the eye shadow pallette.

"I'm not making you hit me." Whumpee shifts uncomfortably in the small wooden chair. "I'm not making you torture me. I never wanted to be here."

For an unbearably long moment, the room was deathly silent. Whumpee's blood runs cold with regret as the reality of what they just said sets in.

But the silence is broken with soft footsteps, and Whumpee nearly jumps out of their skin as Whumper plops themselves right down in their lap and gently turns their head towards them. What was that expression? Was it anger, perhaps? Ice cold rage?

No. It was love. Affection and tenderness as they lean forward and whisper into their ear "I never asked you."

Their hands rest on Whumpee's shoulders as they lean into their chest and smile up at them, innocent, endearing. "It's okay. You're still a bit misguided. I understand, darling. I'll fix that right up for you, okay? Then nothing will stand in the way. I'll never have to ruin you again."

They rise from Whumpee's lap, leaving them paralyzed with dread at that implication.

"Now, be silent, my love. We wouldn't want to be late for dinner, now, would we? I'll finish your make-up in a jiffy."

They walk back to their makeup tray.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper kept the whumpee drugged and practically incapable of thinking- they were easier to manipulate this way. Sure the whumper loved breaking defiant captives, but sometimes, making the whumpee believe that they were back somewhere safe between torture sessions just felt better than having insults hurled at them. The whumpee was just too out of it to realize that the person comforting them wasn’t their friend- it was their tormentor.

[floral-comet-whump]

Whumpee that deceives Whumper

They rack their brain to memorize every little movement, every indicator of Whumper's mood, every pattern. At some point, they even learn to predict Whumper.

They know what Whumper likes to see. They know what they want within a few minutes, what's going to happen to them. They're powerless to stop it.

Sometimes Whumper wants them to silently cry on the floor, so they do. It would be foolish not to conserve energy while they can.

Sometimes Whumper is already in a bad mood. They probe, both because the knowledge is invaluable and because then Whumper will take it out on them.

Whumpee has a little internal guide to how to take punishments. Begin as defiant, but still shake. Look like they're trying to conceal their fear. Gradually break. It starts off as a yelp or sob or whimper followed by an immediate insult, then Whumpee goes quiet for a bit until it's “too much,” begging quietly. And then it's as if a dam has been broken, frantically pleading for mercy, for a reprieve. They look at Whumper with wide, teary eyes, and both their true self and their facade just want it to stop.

Their cries turn quiet as their energy runs out, until they can't bear to look at anything. Their flinch at Whumper's hand on their chin doesn't need to be faked. Their distress is real, and they let themselves whimper. Whumper likes displays of exhausted weakness, it makes them feel as if they've won.

They lean into the little coos and pets Whumper gives after, trying not to gag. Alarms of panic ring through their head, and they acknowledge them.

It would be easier to lose themselves in the comfort after the torture. It would be so much easier to become a shell of a person. They already act like one. Why can't they give up?

The emotional exhaustion after they've been left alone. The dark quiet. Their steadying breath. The scent of both blood and anticeptic. The locked door. The pain.

They can escape once Whumper deems them broken enough to let out unsupervised. It's just a matter of time, just a matter of maintaining this act. A matter of trust from a sadistic torturer that keeps Whumpee in a basement for no reason other than their own pleasure.

They have to keep going.

[distracted-obsessions]

There's something about a Whumpee that just gives in. They'll make the concessions, they'll say whatever you want, do whatever you want, anything to just stay alive. And at the end of the day, they have to remind themselves: I'm not bad, I don't deserve this, I don't love them. I don't. I don't...

[screams-n-shackles]

I like tied up Whumpees as much as the next person but you know what I love?

Mental Restraints

Whumpee being forced to hold still while they are beaten to a pulp while their s/o is held at gunpoint. Locking their arms behind their back, digging their own nails into their skin as to not make a move.

Whumpee who cannot scream or make any other sound because rough punishment awaits if they do.

Whumpee who is guaranteed to come back after tasks obediently because Whumper has something or someone they want.

Whumpee who cannot hurt someone else because their morals hinder them. Leading them into an even worse situation.

Whumpee having to do anything Whumper asks of them because blackmail material exists and got into the wrong hands. Or even better, has been faked but is good enough to ruin Whumpees whole life if they don't play nice.

The helplessness of being aware that they are physically capable to end all of this in a bloody mess. But the price is too high.

[abhainnwhump]

Whumper, ripping off the last page of their calendar and tossing it to Whumpee's feet: That's another year, darling. And not a single person has found you. Give up, because your friends already did.

[runredrabb1t]

Okay but what about a ‘shelter/stray dog’ esc Whumpee?

They bite, they kick, they scream.

They keep themselves cornered to keep whoever is there in sight.

They flinch.

They don’t trust, only know fear and anger.

They feel most vulnerable when someone is behind them.

They’re always hyper aware of their surroundings, on guard, on edge.

But slowly they warm up to the person (their captor?)

They grow used to and accepting of their presence.

Ever so slowly getting closer, until eventually they’re at their side.

Once they are, they are always at their side.

They are loyal. Loyal to a fault.

What else are they supposed to be to the first person that has shown them kindness ?

Now a puppet, an ever willing puppet.

A whumper that uses it all to their advantage, Whumpees initial weaknesses and fears.

Whumper moulding them, shaping them.

Stockholm Syndrome Whumpee

Whumper using their new fears against them. Being alone used to comfort whumpee, now it is a punishment.

#i don’t know man don’t ask me #is it fucked up? #i kinda love it #bedtime scenario #shelter dog Whumpee #trauma #love but at what cost #my parents didn’t hold me enough #you can laugh it’s funny

[whumpshaped]

tw past trauma, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation, de-conditioning (gone wrong?), manipulation

“I… I’m not sure about this. It feels kinda mean.” 

“I’m literally asking you to do it,” Whumpee said, rolling their eyes a little. Despite their attempts to seem nonchalant, though, it was very clear that they were nervous about this. “Please. I can’t live my life like– this. If I’m outside while some fucker is training his dog, I– it’s embarrassing. I need to do something about it.”

“And you think re-triggering yourself is… the way to go.”

“It’s exposure therapy. I don’t get why you’re the one being so weird about it. You’re not even the one who’s about to do the heavy lifting.”

Caretaker sighed, still uneasy about the concept. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to be rude, I don’t want to do any of that. I want you to be okay.”

“Well, I need this to be even remotely okay.”

Caretaker bit their lower lip as they thought about it, trying to convince themself this was fine, and they shouldn’t be making a fuss about it. Whumpee was right, they had to get over it at some point. It was just… Caretaker didn’t imagine they would be the one doing any sort of therapy. “Okay,” they said softly. “Um… then, uh, do you wanna start on the floor, or–”

“No. Come on. Tell me to– say the command.”

Fuck, this was so uncomfortable. Caretaker took a deep breath and closed their eyes. “Alright. Kneel.”

The sound of Whumpee’s knees hitting the floor followed just a few moments after. It wasn’t really a conscious reaction, from what Caretaker understood. It was instinctual. Reflex. They opened their eyes to see their friend looking at the carpet, flexing and unflexing their hands that were resting on their thighs. 

“Can you get up?” Caretaker asked gently. 

“I… Of course…” Whumpee swallowed audibly, and made no move to actually get to their feet. “I just need a moment…”

“This was a bad idea.”

“No! No, I can do this. This is so stupid. I can do this. I need you to repeat the command whenever I start getting up, though. Please.”

“I shouldn’t–”

“Can you just help me for once? Instead of coddling me endlessly? I want my fucking life back!”

Caretaker flinched a little at the yelling. “S-sorry. You’re right. Um… Go ahead, then.”

Whumpee slowly took their hands from their lap and placed them on the floor, then made an attempt at pushing themself to their feet. Caretaker hated to do this. They hated seeing their friend on their knees, they hated ordering them around like an animal. But what else was there to do? Whumpee had asked them for help.

“Kneel,” they repeated quietly. Whumpee’s resolve crumbled immediately, and they sat right back down: back straight, hands in their lap, perfect as ever. They seemed embarrassed by it. “If at any point you’d like to stop–”

“I can do this,” Whumpee insisted. “I can do this. They’re just words. Stupid words.”

They tried to get up again. Caretaker sent them back to the floor with a single word. They tried to get up. Caretaker told them to kneel. It was awful. It was so bad. Whumpee started crying after the fourth time, and Caretaker just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m done,” they said, tears in their eyes. “I’m not doing this to you.”

“What the fuck?” Whumpee snapped. “You said you’d help!”

“And I said I didn’t want to hurt you!” they yelled back. “You’re sobbing! I’m not doing this. I want you to get better, and I’ll pay for as many therapy sessions as I can, but I’m not doing this.” They turned around and stormed off, wiping their eyes as they went.

[defire]

Gang whump prompt

Whumpee is in medical school when they are kidnapped by a mob boss to be a live-in doctor for their injured members.

[dainluvr]

Whumper who sensory deprives Whumpee all the time - apart from when they’re being tortured. So now Whumpee looks forward to their little torture sessions just so they can feel something, anything.

[fleur-a-whump]

Overloaded (#1)

Preventative Measures

so like. this is a thing. been toying with this little guy in my head for a few weeks and like, almost nothing is concrete but I'm hoping I'll turn it into a series.

content: ex-villain whumpee, hero/leader whumper, manipulative whumper, just like a LOT of manipulation, collars/collaring, referenced electrocution, low self esteem, subtle threats, guilt trips

I've never done this before, let me know if I missed something!!

masterlist | next

----------

Villain has finally been given a chance. A chance to prove he's more than what the whole city has always thought of him, more than what his father raised him to be. He wanted to do good in the world. The heroes were finally giving him a chance to be more than they've always thought of him. 

...or so he thought.

He gulps as he stares at the shock collar in Team Leaders hands. It's a small thing, sleek and unassuming. But he knows exactly what it is because Team Leader had shown him how it worked.  The man is currently speaking to him nonchalantly. Villain should really be listening to the hero that holds the key to a better life. But that collar... shakes Villain's faith in Team Leader. Just a little.

"Villain," the man says shortly. Impatiently. Shit.

Villain jumped to attention, nerves only growing worse. 

"Sorry, sorry! I'm just-just a little confused. I thought... I was a part of the team..." He tries to keep the heartbreak out of his voice. He doesn't quite succeed. 

"If you'd listen..." the Team Leader sighed deeply. Villain was going to throw up. 

Team Leader began again, speaking slowly as if to a child. Or a stupid person. Villain thinks he fell into the latter column. "I was just saying this will help you better mesh with the team. I'm sure you've noticed people are a little nervous with you around."

Hostile. Villain would use the word hostile.

"Given your past, everything you've done," the man drawled. Villain can't hold back a wince. 

"So, to ease their worries, and allow them to see how great I know you can be, this is just a little precautionary measure. A bit of a show."

Ryan swallowed thickly.

"So... It wouldn't be used..."

He tries to keep himself from thinking about electricity burning the sensitive skin of his throat as it shoots down his spine and into his skull to paralyze him. He's familiar enough with the feeling; he doesn't need to imagine it.

Team Leader gives him an easy smile. "As long as there are no issues, of course not."

"...Issues?"

"Oh, stuff that'll never happen. Just breaking any of the rules."

Villain arched his brow, slightly dubious. "Rules.”

"Yeah, like, follow orders, don't fraternize with any of your old contacts, don't leave our level, don't work unsupervised, don't harm the team. Stuff you've been doing this whole time."

"Wait, don't leave the level?

"I mean, that's pretty obvious, bud. If we can't see you, we can't know that you're following the rest of the rules."

He nods mutely, gaze wandering. this whole thing just. He didn't know. It hurt.

Team Leader gently tilted his head up. "Villain, I'm only doing this because I trust you. I know you'd never do anything that could jeopardize your place here."

He doesn't trust that Villain is a hero though, obviously. That he's good. Because Villain could never be good. Not now. Not after all he's done. 

No, he can only hope to do good. And the only way he'll be able to do that is with the team. If this is what it takes to ease his team into working with him, if this is what it takes for him to stay, then he'll do it.

"O-okay."

"Atta boy, Villain! I knew you could do it, man."

Villain nods, trying to give him a smile.

Team Leader moves towards him all too quickly, and he can't help the flinch. The man doesn't seem to notice—or at least he doesn't acknowledge it—and is soon once again gently tilting Villain's chin up from where it had fallen. 

Villain fights the urge to lean into the touch.

While he's distracted, Team Leader swiftly brings the collar, already disengaged and bent open at the hinges, and presses it to Villain's skin. 

Villain jolts at the cold metal and fights to swallow as it's closed around his neck.

The locking mechanism clicks right up against his spine. He can't help the shudder that trickles down his back at the finality of the sound.

"I'm so proud of you, bud," Team Leader says with a big smile and a ruffle of Villain's shaggy curls.

The tightness in his chest eases, just a little. A little part of him flares in anger at how easily he's comforted. He doesn't deserve the comfort.

But he's trying. The collar now fit snuggly around his neck, like it was made for him, is proof of that.

--------------

ps ex-villain whumpee on the hero team but whumped by the hero team is my all-time favorite trope and it is so hard to find I have finally hit the point of needing to produce my own story to scratch the itch

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper had made the whumpee believe that their enemies would torture them worse than the whumper ever could- that anyone who tried to rescue them would hurt them more than they could ever imagine. It didn’t take long for the whumpee to believe the whumper’s lies, and they would actively sabotage any rescue attempts in fear of being hurt worse than they already were.

[distracted-obsessions]

I gotta love the when Whumpee's team meets one of Whumpee's old Whumpers but it's a Carewhumper or a manipulative Whumper that Whumpee views as a minor bother.

The team has to work with Whumper for some reason and the team finds out about their shared past. Maybe Whumpee tells them, maybe Whumper tells them, maybe they're both perfectly forthcoming about everything.

The team hates Whumper for how they treated Whumpee and always ask Whumpee if they need a break from Whumper or tell them that they can make do without Whumper but Whumpee just rolls their eyes and says that Whumper is harmless.

Whumper is far from harmless and the team is very concerned by the fact that Whumpee seems to be mildly annoyed at worst.

The team tries their best to make sure that the two of them are never alone but they keep finding the two of them together in increasingly compromised positions.

Whumper seems increasingly annoyed at being interrupted but Whumpee doesn't seem seem to care either way.

"You can't gaslight me, I know what you sound like when you're gaslighting me." "What’s gaslighting? I don't think that's a thing."

When Whumper finally leaves, the team is ecstatic. Whumpee watches them go with a hint of longing in their eyes.

[whumpitisthen]

Too Much

alt.: How to Break a Defiant Whumpee 101, cws in tags!

When the lock clicks and the door opens once again, the foreboding light cascades down in the form of a person's shadow onto him and he cannot hold in a moan of distress.

He jerks his hands down against the cold floor in helpless, terrified frustration. His blood trickles from under the thick cable wire tying his wrists tightly together, collecting in a puddle with the rest of his spilled life force on the floor. Those cuts barely had time to close over, now torn open again. It cannot have been more than a couple hours since the last visit; what had he done to incur this unbearable punishment today? Who did he piss off this bad?

He listens to the familiar, heavy footsteps nearing him, hoping desperately that they aren't here for him. Unfortunately, those steel-toed boots enter his vision and do not leave, slowing to a stop right in front of his cell, peeking through the bars curiously. He wishes that just once, they would walk right past him; that he would be ignored and left alone. Alas, today has not been the luckiest.

"Oh, just look at you. Always such a sight for sore eyes."

"F-Fuck off."

Leaning up against the cell door, they trail their eyes along every inch of his skin. Of all his captors, this one might just be the worst, if only for their creepy fucking mannerisms. It's hard to forget about those intense, dark eyes and that impossibly smooth, gross voice that makes his skin crawl and keeps him company even in his nightmares. Among all the other things he was hoping for just a moment ago, not having to see them today was quite high up on his list.

They click their tongue. — "You still have your tongue then. Could've fooled me. You look awful."

Their grin made the insult sound more like a twisted compliment. He forces out another weak reply. — "Wow. Thanks."

They pause, tapping their index finger against one metal bar. They are just standing there, staring at him. Their expression is infuriatingly pleasant.

He fucking hates this. Why couldn't they just leave him alone today? Why does he have to be looking up at this terrifying motherfucker from the coldest, most uncomfortable corner of his cell, already exhausted, beaten halfway to death, and be forced to go through yet another round of pain? This just isn't fair.

They take a deep, content sigh, seemingly done with their sightseeing. — "Right."

They back up to stretch, then fit the key into the cell door, promptly sliding inside once it's open. His foreseeable future has swiftly become his near future, and he is anything but ready for it to become his present.

"W-Wait, wait, don't come in, you can't be ser— "

"How could I not when you look so lonely, cuddled up to the wall all by yourself?" — they sing, watching him struggle to push himself further into the corner he was left in by the one before them. From this close, it's even more apparent how rough he had it lately.

If the numerous black-purple pools of blood under his skin weren't enough, the fresh pool by his hand and the splatter of red across the walls would make it more than obvious. Everywhere they look they find another cut, another bruise, another mark and slash and burn. The ever present rings around his wrists are deeper, and now a new one resides around his throat like a collar. His eyes are dark and crimson, looking at them like he might just burst into tears.

He pushes his back into the wall with a cry. A new desperation has morphed his voice into something truly delicious. — "Just, leave, leave me alone!"

They smile innocently. — "Oh, should I? I'll consider it."

"No, stop, please — !" — his throat rasps and breaks his words, but that is nothing new. What is new, however, is the begging. This one has to be forced to beg usually, and now here he is, already close to sobbing for them to just let him be before they could even set a hand on him.

With something between a groan and a whimper, he twists his body to be hidden, curling up to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as he cowers, shaking, shielding his face with bound hands before they could even reach him. He looks utterly pathetic, and that melts their heart — but then they notice something truly surprising, something deviously intriguing.

"Don't tell me... Baby, are you crying? Already?" — They do not even try to hide the grin in their voice as they kneel in front of him. He only curls up tighter, sniffling. — "Now you're starting to worry me. This is very unlike you. I expect insults and swearing, not weeping."

He doesn't respond with anything but a huff of air. They try to peer behind those twitching fingers — a couple of them are definitely broken — but their curiosity isn't sated. The thought of finally having broken him crosses their mind. — "What happened?"

Their question goes unanswered. This guessing game is already starting to irritate them.

They take a light hold of one of those fractured fingers, leering; only a threat for now. — "You know I prefer screams to silence."

"Don't," — he half-wheezes.

"Talk to me then. What's troubling you, sweetheart?" — they cut him off entirely, cooing like they aren't the very reason he's like this.

"I'm... I'm scared."

"I can tell."

"I just — please, I-I just —"

They say nothing. He swallows dryly.

"I just don't want to be hurt again," — he whispers miserably, — "I can't, again, I can't — "

They still don't say anything. They still hold onto that damn finger. He almost wishes they would just get on with the torture instead of whatever this is.

"What, what do you want from me? Just fucking leave! Please!" — he yells, pleads, loses his mind a little more. — "Are you blind? Do you seriously want me to explain to you why I'm, why I'm having a-, a fucking meltdown?"

"I've barely had a, a single minute to myself today where I didn't have to en-entertain any of you pricks, and when I think it's finally over, when, when I get just a second, a m-, a moment to breathe," — he takes a strained couple inhales, almost hyperventilating before harshly gulping down his anxiety again, fighting sobs, — "y-you fucking show up. Like you always do. And, and now I'm here, yet again, left on the floor tired and, and hurt and bleeding — and you're, you're — it always g—, it never gets better. It never f-fffucking stops."

Nothing more is said for a while. They just watch him cry in his little corner coated in fresh blood, breaking apart in front of them. This is an incredible, rare sight. An important moment. They see a precious opportunity and they simply cannot resist seizing it.

They let go of his hand, gently laying their palm on his head instead. The gasp and the flinch are wonderfully unexpected, yet so beautiful to see. — "How many of us came today?" — they inquire softly, almost genuine.

His fragile throat lets out the most raw, wretched sounds they have ever heard him make. — "Y-You were the only one who hasn't. Eh-everyone and their mother came to visit me. I was really fucking hoping you wouldn't."

Ah. The others all took turns today, huh. They did a fine job at whittling him down. They don't even know how all of them managed to get their round in in such a short period of time.

"All five of us?"

"Yeah," — he mumbles. He's furiously wiping at his eyes, starting to lose all hope of getting any rest now that they are this close, and clearly not leaving any time soon. He hoped this embarrassing outbreak would at least deter them somehow, but none of his hopes today came true. They aren't exactly a bleeding heart who would change their mind about torturing him just because he's a little sad. If anything, he thinks, being this pathetic might have just spurred them on. — "But it doesn't, doesn't matter, does it? You sadistic freaks don't care about anything but, but beating the shit out of me any chance you get. I don't know why I thought that you of all people would understand."

This is perfect.

They lean in close. — "Me of all people? What's that supposed to mean? Am I special?"

"Especially annoying." — Now that's more like him. Retorts and insults flying out of his mouth like bullets. They really wish they could have him confess that he finds them the most intimidating out of everyone, that the ‘annoyance’, as he put it, comes from the fact that his backtalk doesn't have any effect on them, and that they know him on a deeper level than any of the others and that scares him more than anything — but they recognise when the moment allows for a play like that. He's already building up his walls again; they can't let this moment slip through their fingers.

"Mmm. Well, I have a proposal for you." — They dig their fingers under his great mess of locks, not unkind. — "Look at me."

"That's not a proposal."

"I'll tell you once you look at me."

"No."

They sink their hand in deeper, twisting into his hair like the claws of a beast. — "Come on. Don't you want to hear it?"

He only lifts his hands higher to hide behind, now muffling his tone. — "I know that, th-that you only want to see me cry."

They smile. — "Yes. And I know you want to avoid more pain."

This thinly veiled threat does two things: it pisses him off, and it brings back that foolish hope that they will take mercy on him if he behaves as they like.

Just one more push. A soft, light order. — "Look at me, baby."

Ordinarily, this would never work. He might even laugh in their face or spit at them for asking, especially so sweetly. This time, however, he is just a lonely, sad little guy in a cell, desperate for sweetness. They wait patiently. He shudders uncomfortably, snivelling.

Silently, with a deadly glare, he finally looks at them.

His eyes are red, puffy, and so, so tired. His lips are bitten bloody, cracked, pouting. The scar over his right cheek has been reopened, enlarged to run down the side of his neck. A gorgeous purple bruise has nestled under his left eye, running like paint in water across his skin. His tears drew clean streaks along his face, sliding down the length of his neck. It's beautiful, mesmerising. They are mesmerised for a little too long, though.

"I hate you so fucking much, you're so gross," — he hisses, done watching their eyes rake over him like an object while having the most adoring, fond smile doing so. It always sends a shiver down his spine when they do this, and having them be so close just makes it even more unbearable. He can clearly see their eyes refocus and return to make eye contact at his remark and it makes him nauseous.

It's fascinating how little bite his voice holds now, with the tears still flowing freely and his throat closed up. So many thoughts of torment run through their mind, images of taking advantage of this weakened state he is in and breaking him until there is nothing left, until he is like this all the time; crying and pitiful and obedient and lovely. None of that makes it to the surface.

"My proposal is this;" — they say instead, — "we could go on with what I had planned for today. This option includes this high voltage shock collar I brought with me."

As they turn to get the collar he assumes they must be bluffing, but horrifyingly enough, they turn back with a thick, black loop of leather with a box attached to it and a remote in their other hand, grinning excitedly. He remains silent in shock.

"Or," — they say after a pause to let him simmer in anticipation, setting their toy to the side, — "we could forget about that for now, and let you rest instead. How does that sound?"

He can barely believe his ears. They actually care? This is a trick, it must be.

"You're lying." — His splotchy face must have betrayed his bewilderment, because they murmur a chuckle before they respond.

"I am not. I can tell you are in a lot of pain."

They take a gamble as they take his head into their hand gingerly, turning him towards them by one shoulder and one cheek carefully, fully expecting him to struggle. There is resistance, as always, but quieter, just a small weight put behind pulling them forward which might as well just be his tired body refusing to cooperate. He says nothing. His lip wobbles. His expression is less cutting than usual, the edge replaced by worn flesh and agony.

They make an effort to remove all malice from their eyes, looking at him with sympathy and love instead. They give him exactly what he has been craving for the weeks he has been trapped here. Someone who can tell him they know he has been trying his best.

They look right into his eyes empathically, and sadly sigh; — "You're just tired, aren't you?"

Those are the magic words to open the gates to his true anguish. Something about this awfully simple, assuring sentence whispered so knowingly — it breaks something in him, and his eyes fill with fresh tears, and he cannot help the sobs bubbling to the surface. Because it is that simple, isn't it? He is so, so damn tired. All he wants is some rest. The assurance that someone sees him struggling, and understands how badly he hurts, and how little he really asks for. Coming from his torturer, it should not feel so liberating. But he is far past rationalism, his want for a single kind gesture has long become a burning need he would do anything for in this moment.

He may regret it later, but for now he leans into their hand as he lets every sob he ever swallowed down free, letting them see how broken he truly is already. From under all that grit and animosity comes pure childlike, innocent suffering, so potent he doesn't know what to do with it besides letting it envelop him. Just the right opportunity and a couple pokes, and he has crumbled under all this weight.

They lead him closer, pulling him out of his defensive position against the wall slowly to embrace him. He is all but powerless to stop his fragile form from moulding under their touch, gasping wretchedly in their arms. He is shivering like a leaf. It's intoxicating.

There they remain until his sobs weaken, and his exhausted body slumps against them like dead weight. Somewhere along the line they had let themself slide down to the ground, inviting him to lie on something soft for the first time in forever, even if it is only their own body. The floor isn't exactly clean — it's quite disgusting in fact — but it is well worth it to have this ball of resentment tamed for even a small bit, even if they have to lie on filth for it. This one instance of kindness will have lasting effects on their relationship and him as a person, even if he doesn't realise it, or even if he does. He will find it hard to look at them the same way, and will find it difficult to keep up his defiance in front of them when he knows they have seen him truly at his wits end.

He may let them touch him more often without a word. He may find it easier to do as they say without fighting. He may grow more attached to them through this, having a closer connection to them than to any of the others. He may even ask them again, once the time comes, to have mercy on him again, and they will give it to him, letting him fall deeper and deeper. He will have to swallow his pride, and he will only swallow it for them. This small moment will be crucial in the future. Maybe they could capitalise just a little more on this by telling the others they can't see him for a day. They will visit him tomorrow and ease his mind again, let him heal, see how he acts after this humiliating exchange.

The unconscious man in their arms will learn to be theirs with time; he has already made so much progress. This one is theirs, just as soon as it becomes too much to bear again.

...

He didn't even yell at them for calling him baby.

~

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