#oc whump

[dying-crying-pining]

whump tropes in everything i write pt. 2:

• that pause and dizzy sway A does after a fight/ordeal/magic overuse. B grabs a fistful of A’s shirt to steady them

• running a character into the ground: every time they get a second to rest, another fight happens/they’re on the run again/they’re attacked. bonus points if they’re in the same outfit the whole time and it progressively gets bloodier, more stained and ripped—makes that final collapse sooo good

• A is on the verge of completely losing it, shaking hands/frantic pacing, whether that’s bc anxiety/the horrors™️/the plot etc. B is the only person who can ground them. Love a good forced hug that A resists but B’s stronger and it turns into B guiding A to the floor as A melts into them

• A hiding an illness/injury right up until they literally tip over and give B the fright of their life

• a character coughing up blood and still pushing thru

• obligatory homoerotic wound cleaning: A and B both covered in A’s blood. lots of shushing. frantic soothing. very handsy. bonus points if B is inexperienced and freaking the f out while A is delirious & breathlessly trying to comfort them

[whumble-beeee]

You Look So Much Prettier This Way

Poor Stan. What will you do to get out of this predicament, I wonder?

What will you do when fighting back isn't even an option?

Stan sat stunned. He couldn't speak. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't complain, he couldn't quip, he couldn't stand, he couldn't struggle, hell, he could barely even move.

He wanted to cry.

His face hurt from where they punched him. His neck hurt from where they grabbed him. His entire body hurt from where they'd manhandled him to the ground and pinned him down and tied him up, choking him, punching him if he dared flinch, or god forbid he struggled against their grasp.

And after all that excessive tying, the rope that scratched against his tender skin and pressed in on his ribcage in a suffocating embrace.

They'd gotten out the duct tape. His heart stuttered, eyes wide. He started to scream, he kicked out at them.

Big mistake. As soon as they finished they mortifying ordeal of wrapping his mouth in layer after layer of duct tape, they slammed him down onto his back and hoisted his legs into the air, bent them into the most odd position, and by the time Stan realized that had still more rope, they were already wrapping it around his ankles and his thighs.

Over and over.

He tried to scream. They kicked him. He screamed some more into the duct tape gag. More blows. Tears. It didn't stop. He couldn't even curl in on himself to protect his soft underbelly.

Then they plopped him on the floor.

Surrounded him.

Appraised him, hungry eyes searching over his body.

Stan couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

The one he thought to be the leader stepped foreward.

Knelt in front of him, cupped Stan's cheek in their hand.

Stan could barely even find the strength to jerk away, and when he did, they just grabbed his collar and yanked him back, made him stare right into their ruthless shark-like eyes. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them.

"You look so much prettier this way," they lulled. "I wonder if your friends will agree when they come to find you."

* * * * * * * *

Whumptober 2024 | Day 7 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

Stan is an OC that belongs to The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping!

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx

(If you wanna be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[elliehallers]

Me with my favorite OCs:

[ohbandera]

day 9: Injury

When u get shot by an arrow and then strike a pose

[spuddy-potat]

small collection of whumpy art of my oc 🫶🫶🫶 i was kinda hesitant to post these since idk if anyone who follows this blog really wants oc art but YALL ARE GETTING IT ANYWAY

[whumpninja]

Being an OC whump writer feels like reverse demon possession. You have little people in your head and you do terrible things to them. And instead of you summoning them, they go “poof!” and summon themselves and then you beat them up for it. And maybe when you make them suffer enough you give them a happy ending, but also they have to go through The Horrors first because that’s the price of living rent free in your brain.

[inhurtandincomfort]

A Night to Regret

CW: Kidnapping, abusive relationship

Part 2 / masterlist

“Hey babe,” Kieran answered his phone with a grin, “Yeah, I’m on my way back now. Guess what? I’ve got a job!” 

“Really? That’s amazing!” He pulled it back from his ear as Abigail squealed, “What is it?” 

“It’s a short film, an original horror I think. I don’t know all the details, Kate said she’d email them to me first thing Monday. It’s a student film, but they’ve done quite a few popular ones.” 

“You know what this means? Celebration! We should invite Mike and Lisa, I’ll see if Cameron’s free too, and Jaysen, though I think he’s busy…”

Kieran laughed softly, “Is that really necessary? I was thinking we could just have a quiet night in, just the two of us.”  

“We do that all the time! Come on, we haven’t had a get together in ages. It’ll be fun. We’ll order pizza, and if you pick up some drinks on your way home… ooh, make sure you get some of that beer I like.”  “Since when did this become about you?” 

“I’ll pay for everything!” 

He smiled even though she couldn’t see it. “I got it, don’t worry. You order some pizzas, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” 

“Love you!”

Kieran slid his phone into his pocket, making a u-turn to head towards their favoured liquor store. He shivered, hugging himself as he walked down the quiet street. Strange, to be so quiet on a Saturday evening; it was freezing, he reasoned. It wasn’t that late, but the sun set early this time of year and a starless sky made the frigid air seem bleak. Still, deserted streets always held an eerie feeling. Though they weren’t completely empty, he only saw an occasional passerby in thick coats, scarves weaved around their faces. Man, he should have brought a scarf; his lips were probably turning blue. 

A small, childish part of him wished he had stayed talking with Abigail. Past every alley, every covered stranger, a chill crept up his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. He considered calling her back. She was probably calling their friends though. You’re worrying over nothing, he scolded himself. He was a grown-ass man, he could handle walking down a street himself, the same route he’d taken many times before. Alone. In the dark. 

Abigail kept telling him he should ask his doctor about anxiety meds. Maybe she was right. 

He was relieved when he made it to the store, offering him a brief respite. There was only one other customer who seemed to be studying two bottles intently. Kieran made his purchase, making easy small talk with the grizzled cashier trying to ignore his stomach twisting in knots.

He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to get warm, an awkward motion carrying bags of glass bottles. He hummed to himself as he walked, a cheesy romance he hoped would stave off anxious thoughts. He glanced behind. A couple of men were trailing at a steady pace, scarves concealing their faces. He turned back to face forward, his pace quickening just slightly. People are allowed to walk behind you, Kieran. He told himself firmly. Learning to face your fears is an important part of recovery. Don’t let anxiety control you. 

…But he’d also been taught to follow his instincts. What was he supposed to do when every gut feeling told him to run? 

He considered stopping to let them pass. Would that just make him seem suspicious? It would probably be weird. Home wasn’t far, he’d be there soon. A black car with tinted windows was parked up ahead. Had it ever been there before? He shook his head. Paranoid. He’s just paranoid. Lukas had always said so. It was hardly an unusual car, it’s no surprise he’d never noticed it. And people were allowed to visit.

Still, as he got closer his shoulders hunched, blood rushing in his ears. His stomach cramped, tightening painfully as every signal in his body rang wrong, wrong, wrong. Something was wrong. He halted in his tracks, willing himself to move, his body frozen as his mind raced, every alarm bell screaming go back, go back, danger danger dangerdanger-

A heavy weight slung around his shoulders drawing him in. He opened his mouth to yell, a gloved hand silencing him. Something hard pressed into his back, small and rounded and fuck, this wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening-

“Don’t make a sound,” A gruff voice whispered, a voice that didn’t sound natural. They were trying to disguise it. “Come with us quietly, and there won’t be any problems.” 

Kieran nodded numbly, his heart hammering against his chest. With a small nudge from whoever stood behind, with a gun did they have a gun please say that’s not a gun he was bundled into the black car where someone was already waiting to drive away. Two men sat either side of him, blocking every exit.

“Head down,” One commanded, shoving his head to his knees before he even had a chance to do so himself. His shopping bag was placed by their feet. They’d probably take the drinks for themselves. They took his phone too, along with his wallet leaving him with no form of identification. 

“Who are you?” Kieran dared to ask, his voice trembling. “Where are we going?”

“Shut up.” 

They were going to kill him. Oh god, he was going to be murdered, his body thrown in a woods somewhere or a lake or burned and oh god. Would they ever find him? Would his mother get to bury him? What about Abi, would she blame herself? How long would it take her to grow concerned? Was she already pacing around anxiously, wringing her hands, waiting for him to come home?

When they were out of city limits, they pushed him to the floor, wrapping cloth around his eyes, binding his wrists and ankles with duct tape which they also placed over his mouth. They must have driven for miles. He was transferred to another vehicle at some point, open conversations taking place in a language he couldn’t understand. Occasionally they’d rip the tape off to pour water down his throat. He fell asleep at one point, he thought. It was all a haze, fuzzy memories leaving him unable to distinguish what’s real and what is fake. 

Next thing he knew he was being roughly dragged outside, mud staining his clothes as  he was thrown to the floor. 

“Good to see you again, Angel.” 

Kieran stilled, every hair on his neck stood on end, his heart leapt to his throat. He thought it might just stop. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Lukas jeered, his honeyed voice washed over Kieran like acid. The blindfold was yanked off his face, letting him look up to a man he wished he’d forgotten. 

Calloused fingers cupped his cheek tenderly, bronze eyes filled with such gentle warmth met his own. He used to melt under that same gaze, putty in his hands. He would have done anything to please him, debased himself in so many ways just to see those soft eyes look at him once more. 

Now they just filled him with fear. 

“It’s been so long, hasn’t it Angel? Were you afraid you wouldn't see me again? I was beside myself. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing your face, haunting me like an enthralling ghost. I didn’t know what to do, I was so lost without you.” Lukas grabbed Kierans face in both hands, leaning in so close their noses almost touched, staring deep into his eyes in a way that made his skin crawl. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be some horrible nightmare, he was gone, he got out, he fled across half the country just to be safe and it wasn’t enough. He wanted to scream, wanted to yell, wanted to kick and scratch and do anything that would get him out of here, anything to never be trapped with this monster again. 

But his limbs were bound, his mouth stuffed full of cloth. Even if they weren’t, he wasn’t sure he was capable of it. He’d never fought back then. He hadn’t changed at all, not really. He was still the same meek figure he’d been back then. 

“You should never have left me Angel,” Lukas breathed, his breath hot on his face. “You’ll never leave me again.”

If you enjoyed please consider reblogging, it really helps the reach and lets others enjoy it too!

Being kidnapped by your abusive ex is bad enough - even worse is Lukas needs to make money. How will he do that? Hurting his Angel on camera, of course <3

[sacredwrath]

P13. Be afraid

Violence, wound care, past torture, touch aversion, nausea mention, self harm?, suicidal ideation (encouraged), negative self perception

“Hey there, come on back now.” The words find Adrian somewhere far away. They wash over him, conveying little meaning.

He floats

“Adrian!” More forceful. That's his name, isn't it? Did he have a name?

“Adrian, it's time to come back now, come on, wake up.” These words are accompanied by a spike of irritation. Who's disturbing him?

“Adrian!” This time, a sensation, a small pain against his cheek. He has a cheek? He has a body

Body awareness hits him

He shoots back into himself, leaping up with a gasp, unsteady legs almost dumping him to the floor. Where is he? Who is hurting him?

The walls are dusty brick, and his feet press into concrete. His cell, Jesse's basement. He relaxes a fraction

A small, dark-skinned woman with wild hair and a bloody rag in her hand looks up at him from where she's seated on a cot. Was that always here?

“Hey hey, it's ok,” she says, raising her hands to show she's unarmed. “It's just me… Wonder. L- Apollo went to grab my kit. I'm a medic. We met before, but you were kinda out of it” she trails off

Right, Jesse's friends. The blonde man- Apollo? Stupid name

What the fuck just happened? He's off balance. He hates being off balance. Why was he unconscious?

“Don't touch me!” He snaps as she reaches for him. It comes out tight and unmistakably panicked. Weak- He bears his teeth. Who gave her permission-

Pull yourself together

Can't let them see it

She has her hands up again. “It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you it's just a soothing antibiotic ointment.”

“What?” He still feels off balance, he doesn't understand. Why is she tending his wounds?

“For the pain?”

…

“L-Apollo thought you were having a… reaction to the pain.”

He doesn't understand. Why? Best to agree. He nods, forcing himself to take a few steps towards her.

Gingerly he sits, forcing himself to angle his bared back towards her. It feels like willingly reaching for a hot stove

He flinches at her touch. Fucking weak-

Trying to calm himself he holds still as her fingers move over his back. Each touch burns, sending goose flesh racing across his skin

His last memory was the blonde man coming through the door. He'd been feeling pretty good then? Hadn't he? He likes watching the man squirm and this time he was squirming. The man hadn't known how to use a whip-

Of course, he bites his tongue, letting the slight pain ground him

A whip, fucking typical. Disgust roils in his belly. He'd thought he'd be over this. The man was fucking incompetent with a whip anyways. Did he even hit him? Fucking weak, pathetic-

Her fingers graze the back of his neck and he grits his teeth against bile suddenly rising in his throat.

She finally breaks contact and he allows himself an unsteady breath.

But then her fingers are back and he flinches hard. Revolting-

“Sorry” she says automatically. Is she? He has to fight every instinct he has to make himself unfurl and lean back towards her.

“Almost done.” Is she trying to reassure him? Pathetic

She rubs ointment over another laceration. Her fingers feel like thousands of tiny needles, stinging, but not hurting. He gags, twisting suddenly to grab her wrist. He can't take it

“Get away from me bitch!” He snaps, wrenching her arm viciously and throwing her to the ground.

She cries out, landing awkwardly and he grins. Finally. Satisfaction, control, relief wash through him so fast it makes him dizzy. Yes

He stalks towards her with purpose and she scrambles away, the fear plain in her eyes. He takes his time, wanting to enjoy this.

Where to start? Her fingers, obviously. The hands that were all over his bare skin. His stomach turns, he can still feel their phantom touch. Should he break them? Take off her nails? Breaking them might be too... harsh

He lunges at her, but she darts past him, faster than he expected. Or maybe he's just slower. Her elbow collides hard with his spine and he yelps, spinning back to face her with a growl. Break them then. Each and every one that touched him. Hes going to rip them out one by one and make her fucking eat them

“Come on” she says, hands half raised as if she's still not sure if she wants to fight him. “You really think you can take me in your condition? I don't want to hurt you.” Part of him tries to remember his condition. He's injured, severely injured in his legs, and was unconscious not 10 minutes ago. Maybe he should care, but he doesn't

He throws himself at her, ducking a fist, in past her guard. She kicks out, connecting with his ruined shin, and he howls. The world going white for a moment. When it comes back, he's on top of her, straddling her hips. His wounded knees dig hard into the floor on either side of her. It hurts, but the pain just makes him more angry. He buries a fist in her face, and another before she bucks her hips, knocking him forward, off balance. Grabbing his arm, she flips him off of her, reversing their positions, but before he can react, he feels the tip of a knife digging into his neck.

He almost begs for it 

“Go on then.” He half screams “fucking do it! I can see how bad you want to!” Breathing hard he can feel the sharp edge biting gently into his skin. “You're little friend couldn't. Wanted to teach me a lesson first. But between you and me, I just think he's a coward.” He can't stop the laugh bubbling up in him. “Come on now,” he tries to sound soothing, not crazy. “For Jesse.” He pouts. “Think about how broken they looked when they got back. All shaky and crying, probably flinching at even your most gentle touch.” he tsks “so sad” 

“Misha!” A startled gasp from the door. She glances back and Adrian takes the chance, knocking the blade away from his neck. He twists, throwing her off him, trying to swing the blade around to her neck, but she is too strong. She grapples him, knife clasped in both their hands as they each try to keep it away from themself.

Then the blonde man, Apollo, is there. He stomps hard on Adrian's wrist, grinding it into the cement as the woman lets go. He wines in pain, flailing with his other hand, trying to grab her. She extracates herself easily and stands, looming over him.

“I think you're the coward.” She growls, knife back in her hand. “You're trying so hard to get someone to do it for you. Why? Too scared to do it yourself?" She sneers. "Maybe if you're good, when Apollos done, I'll leave what's left of you with the knife.” she spits at him, pointedly folding the knife as she turns away

He sees red, diving after the pair. A boot knocks him back. He dives again, just in time for the door to slam shut in his face. He screams

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump @jay--o @starsick1979

[whumpurr]

i'll take "bruises and blood" for 500, please

[emcscared-whumps]

WHUMPMONTH - 28: "Trophy"

Ao3 | Navigation Post

Animal trap | Strung up by the hands | Hunted for sport

Pete got caught out by some particularly nasty humans, now they're playing games with him; and he's not the one having fun.

(Whumplovers WhumpMonth is a month-long event of daily whump prompts hosted on the Discord server Whumplovers Collaborate. Works are submitted to a collection on Ao3)

Taglist:

@a-crumb-of-whump

@coldside

@dang-i-like-whump

@gem2117

@onlywhump

@nowjustanothermain2notjudge

@painful-pooch

@pigeonwhumps

@snaillamp

@whump-cravings

@whumplovers-collaborate

@willowtreewhump

If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know <3 More info [here]

[aller-geez]

since you're in your sven (🩵💚🧡) kick i literally can't stop thinking about him having a bad 'one of those days' on top of being sick..

Hey there Nonny! Thanks so much for your request! Seriously living for all the Sven love 😈😈

I see you are a person of culture as well! 😈

When sick, Sven’s sneezes are extremely congested with extra enunciation on the first syllable. He usually has desperate, gasping vocal build ups, but typically will only sneeze once or twice at a time. Every cold turns into bronchitis or pneumonia due to severe asthma and lung problems from when he was a kid.

But with his allergies, they’re very rapid, gentle, kitten like fits of 6-12 sneezes at a time that can completely take him off guard.

“One of those days” mixed with the chest cold from hell, and poor Sven would be an absolute mess. His downtrodden body wouldn’t even know what to do with those itchy sneezes or the lack of oxygen afterward 😩😩

[dying-crying-pining]

whump tropes that make it into every single thing i write because i’m unoriginal:

• trauma reveal by bedridden/weakened/recovering character

• blood-loss related collapse

• somebody gets shot/stabbed/impaled in the chest/gut region

• face holding/checking for injuries

• gentle and/or frantic manhandling (bonus points if hurt character is extra floppy lol)

• fading in and out

• A (who’s usually bleeding out) asks B if they’re ok, cue B trying not to burst into tears or getting pissed off

• A returns to work/regular activities/battle too soon after injury and needs to be scraped off the floor and tucked back into bed by B

[wolfeyedwitch]

Set Up For Failure

Bailey and their no good, very bad day month year

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus

@pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct

@sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump @heart4brains

@myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday

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@whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey

@emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries

[chaotic-orphan]

The Immortal Hunter (7)

Continued from here

for @jumpywhumpywriter — bestie I accidentally published your prompt when this was unfinished so I am dedicating the part to you instead <3 hope you enjoy~

*~*~*~*~*

Heath shot out of bed before he opened his eyes, gasping, moving impossibly fast in a stupor before crashing his shoulder against the wall beside the door. Memories from when he was human snuck up on him in Felix’s venom induced haze. He gasped for air that he didn’t need anymore, clutching at his chest for a heart that didn’t beat as often or as hard; imperceptible to humans but Heath could feel it. His canines elongated to fangs that cut his bottom lip drawing blood, filling his senses with the stale stench of iron and he was back in his body.

His undead, monstrous body.

His mouth was dry, he realised as he pressed his head back against the wall and released a sigh. His gaze travelled around the room almost lazily until he realised he was in Felix’s room. That he jumped up from Felix’s bed.

He scoffed. No wonder he was thinking about them when he was sleeping here.

That bastard. Speaking of… the door beside Heath opened and he caught a flash of white hair in his periphery.

“Darling! I thought that was you, I remembered how thirsty you used to get after a dose of my venom so I brought you water and blood if it takes your fancy, or we can go get some on tap,” Felix said conversationally as he walked into the room. He didn’t look at Heath as he crossed the room to Felix’s small table tucked under the right window and set down a tray with two glasses, a carafe of blood and a pitcher of water.

“You know which option I’d prefer,” he continued with a shrug, pouring put a glass of water. “But the youth of today have more reserved tastes.”

Felix was in front of Heath in the blink of an eye, one hand on the back of Heath’s neck and the other pressing the glass against his lips. “Open up. I know you’re parched,” Felix sang lightly, his voice velvet smooth.

Heath glared at the pale vampire but he obeyed and opened his mouth so Felix could fucking force his affection on him. He remembered the deal, keep Felix happy for the next eighty years. A relatively short amount of time for an immortal.

The water was cool and refreshing as it hit his tongue and he leaned in, cupping Felix’s hand with his own to tilt the glass back more and get every last drop. Felix didn’t allow him even that. The closer Heath neared the glass, the more Felix pulled away until Heath stilled with a huff, his breath reflecting on the glass. Felix smiled and tilted the glass up until the water was gone.

“There, sweet boy,” Felix said, his thumb stroking Heath’s carotid artery tenderly. Possessively. Heath couldn’t find it in himself to care as he drew back, his throat still dry but not as bad as when he first woke. He shut his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. “Are you tired, child? Would you like me to put you back to bed?”

Heath shook his head. Felix’s grip tightened on his throat and Heath’s eyes snapped open, catching the smiling, royal red of the ancient vampire’s.

“Use your words.”

Heath swallowed, not just to get more moisture into his tongue, but also to smother the pride that wanted to fight him on everything. That urge hadn’t died from when he was a human. He opened his hand, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there and closed it again, taking a breath.

“No,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m not tired.”

Felix’s grip tightened ever more so and Heath’s expression turned pleading. He reached a hand up to cup Felix’s wrist that was gently — always deceptively gently— pinning him to the wall, a quiet show of his strength and power over Heath. Human, hunter, vampire, it didn’t matter; Felix was always going to be stronger.

“I’ll go out on a fang here and assume the venom clouded some of your memory, Heath,” Felix purred, stepping closer so his body caged Heath in more. No warmth. No comfort. Just weight against him, pinning him further. Shivers raced down his spine at Felix using his real name. He only did that when he was scolding him, warning him. “But did you already forget our deal?”

Heath curled his lip back over his teeth, fear mixing with frustration, his familiar cocktail of self-destruction around Felix. “I didn’t,” he snapped. “My life for Killian’s.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Felix taunted, his cold fingers wrapping fully around Heath’s throat and lifting him up until Heath was on his toes, trying to yank Felix’s hand off of him with both of his. “It’s been too long, darling, clearly you’ve forgotten your manners.”

“My— my manners?” Heath asked, struggling to cast his mind back to when he was under Felix’s employ and— he stiffened, his eyes widening in realisation.

Felix practically purred like a cat he was that excited, his eyes glinting with a sadistic gleam. “That’s right, Heathy. You do remember, don’t you?”

Heath sputtered. “You— you’re joking, right?” He asked, his voice unsure even to himself.

“I’m always serious when it comes to you.” Felix tilted his head down, his smile exposing his fangs as he leaned into Heath’s throat. No, he couldn’t be out of it again on the venom, but Heath really didn’t want to— Felix’s hot breath on his throat had Heath floundering.

“Master, wait! Please!” He cried, panic colouring his words and then the weight of them fell on him. He felt Felix shiver with delight, a wet tongue slid along Heath’s throat, teeth nipping playfully at the skin. But… but Heath said what he wanted, right? Heath’s hand opened reflexively but he didn’t find a blade, and he curled his fingers closed again. “Master? Master, that’s what you want right?”

“Mmm, I did,” Felix murmured. “But I forgot how much I loved to hear you beg,” the vampire said. His words flooded Heath with a fear he didn’t know he could still feel. “Do it again and maybe I won’t bite you again.”

“Felix—” Heath said with a breath, his voice cracking. The mistake was replied with an instant shift. With a flurry of movement Felix yanked Heath off the wall and threw him onto the bed. Heath scurried backwards, his headache throbbing too much for him to have any capacity to think about fighting back. No, his moves were locked on defensive, evasive manoeuvres trying to flee, to get away.

The vampire appeared again at the foot of the bed, hands behind his back as he tilted his head observing Heath like a farmer watched his prized pig that was to be butchered. A distant love with a barrier between work and emotions.

“You’re still weak from my venom,” Felix noted aloud. Heath glared at the vampire but there was no bite behind it.

“Aren’t we past this, Felix?” Heath asked, struggling to keep himself from stammering. He tried for a winning smile that Felix always liked. “We’ve outgrown these roles of Master of the house and valet by now, surely?”

Felix smiled razor sharp. “Of course, darling. You’re right,” he said and Heath frowned as Felix moved away from the end of the bed. Felix walked to the tray where the decanter of blood was and inclined his head without looking at Heath.

He could hear the smile in the vampire’s voice as he continued. “Only one of your thirsts have been quenced by mere water darling, you need some aqua vitae now, yes?”

Heath hesitated. He didn’t usually enjoy drinking human blood but the blood pact had taken a lot from him and he couldn’t deny this feeling of weakness that had swamped him in the aftermath of his decision.

“Yes, thank you,” Heath said eventually. “Some blood would do me good.”

Felix’s smile only grew. “Marvellous.”

With a whirlwind of movement the door of Felix’s room flew open and he returned before Heath could even get out of bed with Killian. Heath’s heart lurched and he jerked forward as Felix grabbed a fistful of Killian’s hair and yanked his head to the side.

Heath was between them in an instant, pushing Killian away rather than Felix. Felix grinned down at him wolfishly, his gaze ravenous at Heath’s defiance.

“Felix! No, I can’t let you hurt him,” Heath said, his voice low and guttural. Killian had the good sense not to question what was happening, something Heath was grateful for.

Felix bent slightly and grinned in Heath’s face. It’s not like there was much of a height difference between them, but Felix made two inches feel like two feet and Heath wanted to wither under his feral gaze.

“You said you wanted blood, darling, so I brought you some.”

“No,” Heath said and he wished he hadn’t. Felix’s hand shot out in a blur and Heath was slammed against the wall, gasping as Felix strangled him, his eyes alight with danger and malice.

“You dare deny me in my own house, fledgling?” Felix hissed. Heath scrambled to push Felix off but his efforts were in vain. Felix moved again and Heath was against the window, the glass cracking beneath the weight Felix was pressing against it. Felix closed in on him grinning. “Go on. Save him with everything you have. Try and stop me, see what happens.”

Heath grit his teeth and snarled, lunging forward. He managed to push Felix back a couple steps before all traces of humour and playing left Felix’s face. The next thing he knew, Heath was flying across the room. His back connected with a shelf and Heath gasped as he crumbled to the floor, but Felix was there again.

Felix drew his leg back and kicked Heath in the chest. Then the stomach, and in the chest again, and again and again until Heath’s ribs broke and he gasped as pain speared through him, blinding and hot. “Felix—” he wheezed.

Felix kicked him again in the same place and Heath felt his bone puncture his lung. “Please,” Heath rasped. But Felix didn’t stop. He grabbed Heath by the throat and yanked him up, and tossed him across the room. Heath’s back hit the poster of the bed and he crumbled to the ground and Felix was on him, lifting one leg over his waist, straddling the hunter.

Felix slapped his palms against Heath’s ears and Heath howled in pain, a devastating ringing ignited in his brain and between his ears and he couldn’t focus on anything. Felix placed a hand on either side of Heath’s head and slammed it into the wooden floor. Over and over until Heath was moaning dumbly, blood dribbling down from his hairline and from the corner of his mouth.

A jolt of movement to their left and the vampires heads’ snapped in Killian’s direction. He was ashen white, even through his blurry vision Heath could see that. Felix’s smile returned. Heath grabbed at Felix as he stood, trying in vain to stop the ancient vampire from hurting Killian. Heath couldn’t fail.

He couldn’t fail.

But he couldn’t see.

He coughed as he rolled over and blood stained the wood beneath him. He could hear Killian pleading but he couldn’t hear what over the incessant ringing in his ears. “Felix…” he mumbled, the word clunky on his tongue. “Master… please.”

A hand grabbed Heath’s shoulder and sat him against the bed frame. Heath’s head lolled to the side, too heavy to hold up. Only then did he smell it.

Blood.

Fresh, human blood.

He raised his eyes to Felix and Killian who were beside him. Felix shoved Killian to the ground beside Heath, wide terrified eyes greeted him with a sickening fear.

“M-master…” Heath said again, tears forming in his eyes. “No… please. Please.”

Felix put a hand in Killian’s hair, stroking him like a dog. It turned Heath’s stomach. He knew exactly how humiliating and debasing that felt.

“Come on, Heath. You know you want to. Drink from Killian.”

Heath dragged his head up to meet Felix’s gaze. “You said… you said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“And I didn’t, did I, Killian?”

Killian was shaking beside Heath. “Blood.” Heath said. “He’s bleeding. Deal’s—”

“I—” Killian began, cutting Heath off. The poor boy’s teeth were chattering he was so scared. “I cut myself, Heath.”

Heath turned his attention back to Killian. “Isn’t that so nice, Heathy? He saw you were hurt and wanted to help.”

“No…” Heath said, turning to the decanter of wine. “That blood. Stale blood. It will do me fine.”

“Oh nonsense, darling. Killian’s being generous, don’t be rude.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said, and I have kept my end of our bargain. I won’t hurt a pretty little hair on his head. I never said that you weren’t going to.”

Killian swallowed hard. It was deafening in Heath’s ears, the sound of his pulse, his heart racing, the intoxicating scent of his fear. The monster in him was ravenous. The blood was right there. It would heal him completely for a time. He could get Killian out of here when he was strong again, he just needed a taste…

“No,” Heath wheezed, turning his head away from Killian. His fangs elongated past his lips, nicking the pink flesh and drawing his own blood. Heath heaved out a breath, placing his palm flat on the ground and leaning onto it, trying to move away. Felix was at his side in an instant, grabbing Heath’s jaw and tilting his head up to meet his crimson glare.

“You dare say no to me pet? Look at you, darling. You’re practically salivating.”

Killian’s heart thumped faster behind him. Felix ran his thumb along Heath’s lip, wiping the blood away. He brought it to his own mouth and licked the red stain from the tip, humming happily. The hunter’s blood was sweet. Even Heath knew that and he was the hunter.

“Please,” Heath croaked.

Felix smiled. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I know what you need. Killian, your arm.”

“No,” Heath whined as Felix turned his head back to face Killian. “Please, no.”

Heath was too weak to fight Felix’s hand as he grabbed Killian’s bleeding forearm and pulled it to Heath’s lips. Heath turned his head away again so Felix smeared some of the blood under his nose and Heath started to cry.

“Killian… don’t,” Heath pleaded, his voice weak even to himself. He could feel his instincts take over as he reached his hand up to replace Felix’s on Killian’s arm. “Run, go.”

“Killian, you stay right where you are,” Felix’s smooth voice said and Heath winced. His eyes flashed up to Killian’s terrified brown but he was trying to be stoic. He was trying to tell Heath that it was okay. That he was allowed to drink from him.

Felix, impatient, slammed Heath’s head down further on Killian’s arm and this time Heath’s instincts took over and he let them. Heath’s teeth sank into Killian’s arm just above the open wound. Killian’s breath hitched so Heath licked the wound, trying to numb it before he started to drink but the frenzy took over and Heath needed blood.

Heath drank greedily from the tap, only vaguely aware that Felix was purring proudly, running his hand down Heath’s hair as Heath’s body repaired itself with the waters of life. The blood was warm, igniting his senses and sharpening them to the world. He heard Killian’s heartbeat race, he felt the fight leave him, he felt Felix’s hands in his hair.

He gasped as his rib lifted and repaired itself in his chest and glued itself back to his sternum, his lung stitching itself back together again. The bite in his lip glazed over with fresh flesh and Heath gasped again and pulled away.

His eyes found Killian’s brown and he wanted to throw up. The boy’s face was paler than a ghost’s, all blood drained from his face. Heath hated the swirling, dazed look in his brown that looked as if the boy had gone for five rounds in the pub.

Heath recoiled, biting his own wrist and pressing it to the boy’s lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Killian drank the blood willingly. He would do just about anything Heath asked when he was blood drunk like this. Heath could even feed again, just a taste… but, no! Heath watched Killian’s wound seal itself and pulled away, scrambling back into the waiting arms of Felix.

“Get off of me,” Heath growled, but Felix wrapped one arm around Heath’s waist, pulling him back into the diamond space between his legs so his back was against Felix’s chest. One hand in his hair, stroking Heath’s head lightly and purring happily. Heath struggled, but Felix shushed him, a warning growl emanating from his chest and Heath stilled.

Some part of him, an annoying part, still recognised Felix as his sire and that small annoying part wanted only to please his master. He wanted to make Felix happy and keep him happy, longed for this kind of physical affection and presence and soothing.

But the big part of Heath was screaming at him, rage barely simmering under the surface. He didn’t want comfort and warmth from Felix after he fed on human… on a human’s… on Killian’s blood. The guilt flooded him with an unconscionable shame and regret.

His red eyes lingered on the dazed human and his stomach turned. He wanted nothing more than to turn his head away and not look at the state he caused, the harm, but he forced himself to witness this. He tried to sear the memory into his eyelids so he wouldn’t be weak again like this. He felt so young, so like a boy again. So human and it curled something awful inside him.

Why did fresh blood make him feel so human? Why did he want nothing more than to reach over and grab Killian and feast again? Heath allowed silent tears to fall down his cheeks and over his nose, dripping from his chin down. Felix cooed and wrapped his arms tighter around him.

“You did so good, sweet boy,” Felix whispered. Heath shivered in the vampire’s arms. He didn’t want to do good in Felix’s eyes, he didn’t want his approval—

But he did.

He needed his sire’s approval in some form or another, and to have the close contact, the praise, the hum of Felix’s chest— it made Heath feel so good, and that made him feel awful.

He was supposed to protect Killian, not feed off of him.

The hunter in him was stirring, angry, wanting to kill the filthy bloodsucker that hurt Killian. He swallowed the reaction, his hand opening and closing for a dagger that he didn’t have.

“I hate you,” Heath whispered to himself. Felix’s hand tightened on him. The hand in his hair tightened and dragged his head back into Felix’s shoulder.

“I know, darling boy,” Felix cooed. “But unfortunately I love you. And I’ve missed you like this. That façade at the masquerade was really something, but I missed this version of you. The adorable, self-loathing, human-esque vampire hunter.”

Heath shivered in the ancient’s arms. Felix’s lips went to shell of Heath’s ear, his voice carrying like smooth, velvet chocolate, so sweet and dripping in sin. “This is the Heath I miss. The darling servant boy, the terrified human, and the determined protective hunter. Hmm? You’ll be good for me, won’t you, and you’ll never have to do this again.”

Heath jerked forwards but Felix wrenched him back. “I hate you!” Heath spat, vitriolic.

Felix chuckled, the vibrations echoing in Heath’s back. “I know, and yet… you’ll stay and endure this for as long as you want Killian to breathe.”

Heath swallowed the lump in his throat. Felix’s grip tightened. “Won’t you?” He hissed.

Heath grit his teeth. Felix clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Tell you what, I’ll make Killian forget this exchange.”

“I’m not making another deal with you.”

“Fine,” Felix said, releasing Heath. Heath grabbed Killian the moment he was free and brought him to the cloth, smoking chair by the window. “Let him hate you,” Felix said with a dismissive wave. “See how long you want to protect him then.”

“I forgot how much of a bastard you were,” Heath said, fussing over the human, making sure he was comfortable. His lips turned down into a frown as Killian leaned into the touch, vulnerable to anything Heath would do to him. And that blood was divine…

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Heath. You know that.” Felix said. In a blur he was at the door, leaning one shoulder against it and crossing his arms over his chest. “But fine. Be rude. I’ll still have to re-teach you your manners another time, won’t I?”

Heath shot a withering glare over his shoulder. Felix smiled. “You seriously expect me to address you with a title after this?”

Felix’s lip curled over his fangs pointedly. “Yes. Especially if you want your pet human to continue breathing.”

Heath stared at him for a long, hard moment in a silence filled with friction. The tension left Heath’s shoulders. Felix grinned.

“I’ll leave you to stew on it,” Felix told him. The slightly wide eye of his favourite fledgling was enough of a reward right now. “And when you’re ready, you will come around to my way again.”

Felix turned to walk out the door, leaving the two humans to it, but he paused before he grabbed the handle. “Remember how good life can be here, Heath. And remember how bad I can still make it for you.”

With that Felix was gone, whistling a happy tune somewhere in the house. It echoed eerily against the walls. When Heath finally tore his gaze from the door, turning back to Killian he wished he had taken Felix’s offer of making the human forget.

It would be difficult to explain all of this to him once he awoke from this altered state. Heath sighed, running a hand down his face. His red eyes landed on the decanter of blood, and despite himself, Heath walked towards the table. He poured himself a glass and downed it, shivering at what was to come.

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list: @mj-or-say10

[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 1: "If you cry we'll go easy on you."

T/W: Minor whumpee, medical whump, begging, crying

A/N: They do get longer after Day 1 and 2, but for now, a little flavour of the type of fun in store for the rest of the month~

“Let me go! Let me GO!” 

“Quit it, control! We haven’t even gotten you to your room yet.”

Despite my furious fight, they soon manage to drag me inside,  kicking and thrashing into the tiny cell. I struggle with every ounce of limited energy that I possess. My nails tear and scratch like a feral stray. I all but scream my lungs out in protest as they haul me over to the bed. The straps are already open and waiting — waiting for me.

"No — nngh  — get off!”

“What’s the matter, subject? You scared?”

A chorus of amused laughs ripple across the room.

“Heh. If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.” I thrash my head in protest.

You won’t see me cry.

"Whatever. Strap him down already."

Those callous words do nothing to ease my fear. 

“N-no! Stop — NO!” Shrieking, I aim another frantic kick in the direction of the guard. He barely even flinches. I've gotten that weak now. That fact is only emphasised as multiple hands converge on me. They force my limbs down roughly against the mattress, holding me in place as they cinch the cold leather straps tightly around my limbs. I twist and pull vainly, yelling out of pure desperation to avoid what's to come, but it's no use.

Y-you're pathetic, Krissy — just a pathetic useless control!

The buckles bite into my exposed skin. I'm amazed the tightness doesn't cut off my circulation as my wrists are secured. My ankles quickly follow, then my waist and lastly, my chest. I'm fighting the tears as best as I can, but they soon come crawling free anyway. Every tug and struggle is useless.

"Aw, look at those tears. I think we made him cry."

His sneer makes me want to throw up. More tears sting at my eyes.

"Looks like it. Get him prepped for his treatment."

Oh God no — NO!

I wail hoarsely. More hands arrive, grabbing at my arms, stabbing sharp tipped needles into my veins. I cough, trembling against the bed. Whether it's the fever or my current fear, the end result will be the same.

"There we go — peripheral lines in place. He also requested a catheter and a feeding tube."

A cathet—WHAT?!

I shake my head frantically, writhing in terror.

"N-no, stop it! STOP IT!"

My captors completely ignore me.

"Coming right up. The E-572 Globulin infusion is also being transported from the lab as we speak. It should be here in about ten minutes. I'm amazed we actually found some to spare."

"Well, once we get the sanitatems back, I'm sure we'll be well-stocked again."

N-no — Ash, Al—!

I can't help but think about them even now. 

Are they alright? Will they come here? Will they...t-try to save me?

The thought causes more tears to start crawling down my cheeks. Finally, I'm properly starting to cry. Weak sniffles escape my cracked lips. My eyes stare pleadingly back at the guards, begging for a shred of mercy, to remember their earlier 'promise'.

"Equipment’s all ready."

They approach me with blurred haunting tubes, sneering at my horrified expression. "Give me a hand with the insertion."

All I can do is sob.  I may be crying now — but they have no intention of going easy on me...