#pathetic whumper

[defire]

"You'll always be here for me, won't you?" Whumper sniffled, dabbing their eyes with a cloth.

"I..." Whumpee did not like to make promises they weren't planning on keeping.

Whumper's tone went from a pathetic whine to a feral growl in seconds flat.

"Say it." Whumper's teary eyes now held the threat of the cuts, sprains and breaks whumpee had endured any time they weren't the perfect "comfort animal".

Whumpee dropped to their knees and wrapped their arms around whumper, squeezing their eyes shut in a grimace of terror.

"Of course I'll always be there, whumper, of course..."

They just needed to keep whumper happy until an escape opportunity presented itself.

[lthrboy]

Warning: movie spoilers below

So I was just watching The Man From U.N.C.L.E (2015) on an airplane and hooooly shit there's a scene that almost made me go feral. Giga whumperflies below ❤️

Protagonist codenamed "Solo" gets caught and tortured for fun by a minor antagonist called Uncle Rudy. He had such a sick and twisted and beautiful monologue about his love for torture, especially electrocution. The torture chamber, Rudy's scrapbook of torture photos, the smoke wisping off Solo's body, absolute perfection! I think I've rewatched this scene 4 or 5 times now.

Too bad the good guys broke in and saved Solo, putting Rudy in his own chair and electrocuting him to death. He kinda ended up being a pathetic whumper and sold out his organization before he died. I felt like that was kind of a generic end to that scene, being fed to his own machines. I feel like torture for fun is more enjoyable than torture for revenge, it's prettier too.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper didn’t want to care about the whumpee- but nobody was looking for them, hell, some were downright happy to take their position, so the whumper couldn’t help but get attached. The change was gradual, but eventually the whumpee went from being tortured to being comforted and cared for more than they had been before their capture.

[rizzoto-whump]

I really enjoy the dynamics of size difference in whump, especially when there's a smaller whumpee and a larger whumper. The contrast of a small and fragile whumpee, easily overpowered or defeated by a larger whumper—like a pathetic, sad wet cat they are.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumpril Day 30: You're Pathetic

CW: werewolf whumpee, captivity, poison whump, torture

Please, make it stop…it hurts…it hurts so much, and I can’t move…

The werewolf, curled up in the corner of his prison, can barely raise his head as whumper enters and shuts the door behind him. That grin. The way whumper looks down at him, gloating, so pleased that he has a werewolf in his possession. Whumpee wants to shred him. But the dagger wound in his left side burns with agony. And it’s not healing. Which can only mean—

I’ve been poisoned. The dagger…must’ve been laced with wolfsbane…

Whumper crouches down next to whumpee, clicking his tongue. “Dear me, you look pathetic. And I assume you’ve discovered my little secret by now, given that that nasty cut isn’t healing.”

“Wolf—wolfsbane,” whumpee stutters, fighting for breath between waves of fiery pain. “You tricked me.”

“No, no,” whumper scolds, standing up. “I didn’t trick you. I merely did what I had to do.” His boot lands on whumpee’s side and grinds down.

Through the haze of torture, whumpee hears himself scream. Then another scream, and another. They burst from his parched throat in quick succession as whumper presses his heel into the poisoned gash.

Please, just kill me already…I can’t take any more…

Whumper removes his foot and steps back, and whumpee gasps for air, his chest heaving. Darkness crowds into his already blurry vision. And in the midst of it, whumper, standing over the werewolf’s wretched body, the grin gone from his face.

“Don’t you understand, whumpee? This is only what you deserve. An agonizing death, after what you did to me.”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

If you celebrate the winter holidays , maybe uriah wrapped up in ribbon on someone’s doorstep , as a gift?

If you don’t celebrate them , maybe Uriah left in the snow?

2pm vs 2am

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike. 

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor. 

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look! 

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this– 

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–” 

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!” 

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!” 

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning. 

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable. 

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave. 

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course. 

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin. 

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again. 

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover. 

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t. 

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter. 

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her. 

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring. 

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business. 

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?” 

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her. 

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up. 

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid. 

“But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise. 

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing? 

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands. 

He picked up the first pin. 

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin. 

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain. 

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic. 

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language. 

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively. 

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won. 

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines. 

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!” 

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him! 

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath. 

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is) (unless something goes wrong and it takes me too weeks to get myself to write something. I'm so very sorry about the delay!)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump,

@the-lone-youth, @will-o-the-wips, @catnykit, @granny-aaravos, @mj-or-say10

Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

hey that's a really nice lady whumpee you have there, is she single? ready to mingle maybe? yeah...yeah, no totally. i will absolutely not be treating her any better. in fact i may treat her worse. but would you say her options are open or

[saccharine-suffering]

i really like it when the whumpee starts begging for their life. just an absolute mess, blubbering about how they don't wanna die, and how they're sorry, and how they'll do anything, just please, don't-

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — wants and desires #24

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: mentioned multiple whumpers, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, non-con touching (not really sexual), non-con kissing (on the cheeks), fear and discussion of non-con (not explicit), past torture, past injuries, recovery

Leo was quick to close the door behind him. 

The quiet click caused a pang of relief to steady his beating heart, keeping the furious Bran separated from him for now. His eyes flickered back to Roy, who was standing by the window and ruffling a hand through his hair. 

It reminded him of the first time he saw him. 

In Jacob’s office, firm stance and gun trained at his head. It was all because he’d been stupid enough to corner himself at his desk, instead of hightailing it out of there. Perhaps if he’d ran, or even hidden somewhere the man wouldn’t have been able to find him, he would have never found himself in this horrible predicament. 

He wouldn’t have trained mercenaries inflicting torturous pain onto him everyday. He wouldn’t have to deal with the mental strain and the emotional rollercoasters he’d find himself riding on. 

He could have been home right now. Calling his father, playing the violin, curling up under his blanket on the couch. Reading trashy newspaper articles and watering his plants. 

Leo miserably pressed himself against the door, trying to make himself small. He had seen Roy mad, like the horrible night he’d been caught attempting to escape, but there was something different about his eyes and the tone of voice he’d taken. It shook his nerves, reigniting everything he’d felt when he woke up in the chair in the basement. 

He couldn’t forget that Roy was more dangerous than he might ever know. 

The man finally let his gaze tear away from the window, and it landed on Leo’s pale, grimacing face instead. He didn’t smile like he’d often been doing. 

“Go sit on the bed, lion,” he spoke coldly, and the secretary winced at the command. 

He obeyed without question, shuffling over to the other side of the room and setting himself down on the edge of the mattress. The fluffy blanket was soft under his fingertips, gripping the edge and staring at him expectedly, like he was awaiting his next order. Roy approached him slowly, and Leo felt this ominous dread stir under his skin. 

The man’s hand came to rest on top of his head, and Leo couldn’t suppress the stiffening of his body and violent flinch. When his fingers began softly threading through his hair, he begrudgingly started to relax. 

“I don’t know anymore, lion,” Roy drawled, a disheartened sigh falling from his lips. His eyes were flickering over every little detail of his face. Every new cut, every faded bruise, the washed out paleness and the distinct bags under his eyes. Leo sometimes caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he knew he didn’t look good. 

Still, he remained quiet. Roy’s hand shifted under his chin, gently rubbing it with his thumb. 

“I don’t think I like it if it isn’t me,” he whispered quietly. Leo tried not to move from his spot, rigid and tense as he glanced up at him through his eyelashes. 

“What do you mean?” 

His fingers gently traced the assortment of injuries on his skin, smoothing over them with a gentle delicacy.

“All of these,” he hummed, tilting his head. His fingers trailed down his neck, touching the prominent bruises still there. “They’re not from me. So I don’t think I like it.” 

Leo felt his hands slipping under his jacket, peeling the fabric off of him smoothly. The action made him jolt, hands twisting into the blanket with a soft gasp. 

“Stop, please—” 

“Shhh, baby,” the mercenary whispered quietly. His hand pressed against his mouth. “Just be quiet.” 

His hand slipped into the collar of his shirt, gently tugging it down to expose his shoulders. Leo shivered under his delicate touch, Roy’s thumb circling the small, rounded scar from the cigarette Joey had put out on him. His skin jumped under each caress and each stroke of his body, his soft little whimpers muffled by Roy’s hand. 

Leo endured the painstaking act for each minute, before Roy’s hand shifted and clenched his jaw tightly instead, fingers digging into the flesh. He tugged him forward abruptly, causing him to throw his hands out to catch himself against his chest. 

“I like seeing you in pain,” he hummed, his brows furrowing subtly. His fingers squashed his cheeks, forcibly pursing his lips. “But what’s the point if it’s not me?” 

Leo felt tears running down his cheeks before he could stop himself. A scared keening sound choked in his throat as his trembling fingers gripped Roy’s shirt, the position craning his neck and pulling the sensitive, bruised skin taut. The mercenary made a soft cooing sound, and released the bruising grip on his jaw. Leo sucked in a shaking breath, shuddering on quiet sobs. He didn’t fight when Roy’s hands cupped the sides of his head, and leaned forward to kiss the tears away. 

“I-I wanna go home,” Leo pleaded, shivering at the absence of the jacket and the provocative way his shirt was hanging off his shoulders. The man’s lips fluttering across his face as his fingers tangled in his hair. 

“None of that, lion,” he warned against his skin, the puffs of air making Leo shudder. “But, fuck. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.” 

Leo’s stomach sank when he was shoved onto the bed, pinned down by Roy’s hand pressing down on his chest. His recovering ribs almost screamed out at the pressure, somewhat relieved that the mattress was soft enough to support his head. His hands skittered against his chest as the man followed, one knee supporting his weight on the bed and the other remaining planted on the ground, but trapping Leo’s own. 

A terrified thought entered his mind. 

“No,” he whispered frantically, his hands surging forwards and attaching themselves to his shoulders in a vice grip. “No, no, no, please.” 

“Why?” Roy hummed under his breath. His voice reached those low baritones that were swimming with all kinds of implications Leo didn’t even want to think about. There was a devilish smirk on his face. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

Roy had said he wouldn’t do that. He said that he didn’t have to worry about it, but the moment his hands wrapped around his thin wrists and slid them above his head, Leo was stricken by panic. His legs were pinned underneath Roy’s own, but that didn’t stop him from kicking and thrashing and throwing himself into pleading screams and shouts. 

“Please, Roy, please!” He sobbed, twisting his wrists under his scrutinizing grasp. It did nothing to deter his strength; Leo hadn’t even been able to fight him off when he was healthy, so rationally, he knew it would be useless to even try like this. Unfortunately, that rationality was out of the question.

“Please?” Roy hummed coyly.

Leo frantically shook his head from side to side, ignoring the crushing pain keeping him pinned to the bed, too worked up to care. He choked on a violent sob, wriggling desperately.

“Y-You said you didn’t want to, please…” 

“No, lion,” he drawled. His eyes seemed to glimmer. “I do want to. But not like this. I just wanted to see you squirm again.” 

He let go of his wrists, and climbed off the bed. Leo scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall, biting back a pained hiss. He tried to calm down the panicked stutter of his breath, but it was impossible over the shuddering, uncontrollable sobs seizing in his chest. He was probably a pretty picture to paint with his clothes hanging off his body and his disheveled hair, but he couldn’t care. Roy seemed to be in a better mood than he did after dealing with Bran’s accident. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not. 

“Go and clean yourself up for the night, lion,” the man ordered, amused smile dancing on his lips. “And don’t let anybody see you like that.” 

His petrified eyes watched him go like a hawk, only sinking back against the wall when the door closed shut behind him, and he was left alone in his room. He pressed his hands into his face and felt the tears trickling down his cheeks, curling up in himself in a shivering ball. All of those horrible memories resurfaced, making the hairs on this skin prick up. 

Leo raked his nails along his scalp, burying his face into his knees. He didn’t know how long he could endure this for. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to feel safe again, hating himself for being so torn towards Roy’s plethora of different personalities. He didn’t want him to be like the other mercenaries. He preferred it when he was nice, and he was kind, and he held him contently instead of when he was kicking and screaming. He wanted to have a normal conversation with Roy again, because when was the last time he’d had anything of the sort?

Leo pulled the blanket over his head, tucking himself pathetically in the corner of the bed against the wall. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dream of blue skies and clouds again. 

In the morning, he hobbled into the bathroom to have a shower. The bathrooms were the only places he could freely go that had a lock, so he slid it quickly into place and released a shuddering sigh once he was finally alone. 

He wiped away the sweat and tears that had built up on his face during the night with relaxing warm water, stripping himself down and hopping into a lukewarm shower. He didn’t stay in for long, fearing his injuries would grow worse when wet, and so dried himself off and found himself feeling somewhat calmer. 

He slipped into some new clothes and donned Roy’s jacket. Nobody was downstairs, so he quietly poured himself a bowl of oatmeal with some blueberries and raspberries scattered on the surface, before wordlessly gulping it down. His eyes lazily stared at the metallic spoon, clinking it softly against the bowl in a mindless rhythm. 

Leo was tired. He wanted to go home.

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[whumpcloud]

Things End | People Change - Go For The Throat

taglist: @whumpsday @whumpycries @whumpwillow @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @whumpshaped @suspicious-whumping-egg

content: lady whump, vampire whumper, kidnapping, begging, fear of death, defiant whumpee

He's always hated silence. Too many things creep into his mind when it's silent. He walks with heavier footsteps, trying to drown it out.

He hears them, hundreds of little heartbeats, from the windows, down the alleyways. There was a time where this wasn't the case, but it's so far away now that even the idea seems fanciful.

He was human, once.

Vincent Maddox was an Oxford student studying classics. Vincent Maddox was barely an adult, isolating himself in a foreign country, when he met someone who he felt respected him, who offered him the chance to feel that again. Vincent Maddox was naive and trusting.

Vincent Maddox died when he was twenty-two, and he's still walking around, trapped in his own corpse.

He breaks the fence he kicks and it doesn't lessen his frustration in the slightest. He was too polite, too demure to ever take his anger out like this when he was human, and there's zero release in it when he could rip almost anything apart with his bare hands without even trying.

When was the last time he cried? Perhaps it was on the ship back to England in 1846. 1844? Does it matter? It should, shouldn't it? Perhaps it was when he visited Henry's grave in… it must have been the 1910s, before he finally did. Long after Henry had died. Vincent remembers begging his brother's gravestone for forgiveness, but he isn't sure if he cried.

Vincent covers his mouth with his hand. The tight feeling in his chest is just that - a feeling, with nothing he can do to stop it.

It needs it to stop. He needs to make it stop. He wants it all to stop!

"Are you alright?"

Vincent's gaze snaps up towards the source of the voice. A young woman is staring at him, head tilted in concern. Human. Her heart thumps softly.

"Am I alright?" he whispers.

"That's what I asked," she smiles. Is she trying to make him feel better? Her smile is nice.

"It's late," he mumbles. "Dangerous."

"Here? What's gonna get me out here, huh?" She raises an eyebrow. "You? I could beat you up."

He finds himself lightly laughing at that. Not maliciously, not because she's wrong. It's just the way she says it. The confidence in her tone.

When was the last time he laughed and meant it?

She sticks out her hand. "I'm Clary. Anything I can do to help?"

Stay. He swallows. He is stronger than her. He could grab her hand and take her with him before she could even blink.

What is he thinking? He doesn't know her at all. He can't be so achingly lonely that this is all she needs to do for him to decide he needs her.

He needs someone. He isn't friends with any of the vampires around here. Sure, they'll tolerate his presence, but he hears second-hand about gatherings. Sometimes he thinks about searching for Lyfelde, being somebody's companion again, but then the scar under his eye itches and he remembers how terrifying it was to wake up like this, and he banishes the thought from his mind.

Clary waves her hand a little bit. "Hello?"

"S-Sorry," he mumbles. "Vincent."

He takes her hand, and he makes the decision almost on instinct. Hand over her mouth, arm around her torso, and he runs, dragging her with him, in no more than a second.

She starts to scream and kick, but holding her just a little tighter makes her stop. Did he crack her ribs? He hopes not, he hopes he can do this without injuring her, but he's never been able to control his strength. Lyfelde tried to teach him, but Vincent left, and lied, and it's so much effort to not damage things.

His place is close by, and he just breaks the lock on his front door instead of trying for the keys buried in his coat. There's an extra bedroom he never uses, the only room in the house with a window - he bought this place before the repeal of the window tax and never bothered to reinstall them - and he drags Clary into it and pins her to the floor.

She gasps. "Y-You fucking-!"

"Be quiet!" he hisses, trying to sound threatening. "Just be quiet, okay?"

"Make me!" she spits.

It takes a moment of wrestling with her, but he grabs both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head, and covers her mouth with the other.

"Shh," he says, softly, in that slightly menacing way that he's seen other vampires do, just in the hopes that it works. "Just shh. Everything will be fine. I won't hurt you."

He smiles, showing his fangs. Her heartbeat quickens, but she doesn't let it show on her face, not even a little. Brave. He knows that humans are aware of vampires, but their day-to-day life is, for the most part, unimpacted. It's one of those things that they always think happens to other people.

Clary swallows. He doesn't seem interested in killing her, that she can tell. She nods, and stays quiet. He removes his hand from her mouth.

"Okay, good," he says. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Clary. You're Clary."

"Mhm," is all she replies.

"This is going to be your room, okay?" Vincent says. "If you want anything else for it you can ask."

"Y-You can't-" She bites her tongue. Rephrase. She doesn't know if she can risk pissing him off. "You're keeping me here?"

"Yes," he responds. His voice seems to… tremble? "Keeping you. You're mine."

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, his smile returns.

"Mine." His fingers find their way to her chin, tilting it slightly. "I like the sound of that."

Clary glares and flinches away. "Fucking freak."

He digs his fingers into her skin. "Don't speak that way. I hate swearing."

"And how are you gonna stop me?" He's bruised her plenty, but she's already pushed, so she might as well keep going and see what else he'll do.

"Can't you be nice?" he snaps. "You were being nice."

Clary blinks at him. "What?"

"Is it so hard?" Vincent's grip on her wrists tightens. "All I'm asking is for you to keep me company, and let me have some of your blood. That's it."

Clary genuinely can't help it. She isn't a patient person, and she isn't easily scared, either, even though she knows what a vampire could do to her if they wanted to. Danger isn't real if it isn't happening, and really, what is he doing to her right now?

She snickers.

"What… what are you laughing for?" Vincent seems more confused than anything, and that's Clary's cue to go for the throat.

"You want company." She grins. "You couldn't get anyone else to hang out with you? You're so unlikeable that you had to kidnap some poor little human to get a friend?"

"Sh- Shut up!" Vincent grabs her by the hair, but she doesn't react, even though she swears she feels him pull a few strands out. "I said I wouldn't hurt you, so don't make me, okay?"

"What made you do it?" she asks, leaning up. "Because you were upset? I bet you were crying about something stupid and it just made you so happy that someone was finally nice to you. Fucking loser."

Vincent doesn't say anything. His eyes flash, and he pulls Clary's head up and to the side so he can sink his fangs into her neck. She gasps with the sudden pain, a sharp sting that only gets worse the longer it goes on. And he just keeps going.

She pulls at his shirt, kicks, scratches, and it doesn't do a thing. "S-Stop, stop it!"

Her hands are becoming clammy and cold, and she shakes. It's too much. He really is going to kill her, she went too far and Cai is going to have to identify her drained, dead body, and she doesn't want to die.

"P-Please!" she tries. "I'll be nice, if you want me to be nice! Stop, don't kill me, please don't kill me!"

Vincent's grip tightens for a moment, and he lingers, then lets go. Drops of blood trickle down her neck. She whimpers softly.

He wasn't going to kill her. He thought he would, for a minute there, but he never would have. It wasn't even the begging that stopped him.

He doesn't want to be alone again. Even if she's going to snap at him, he can… fix that. He's not the first vampire to take a human, and he certainly won't be the last. There's people he can ask, and they might smile and say he's done well, or even, at least, seem proud of him for something.

"Just… relax, okay?" he says softly. "I'm going to lay you down."

Clary lets herself be lifted up and placed down on the bed. It's clearly had no use for years, and that could be any number, depending on how old Vincent is. But it's a bed, in a windowed room, and frankly she could be worse off.

"Rest as much as you need," Vincent says, putting the blankets over her. "I want you to be okay."

"How could you think this was a good idea?" she mutters.

Because I'm alone. Because you were nice. Because I can't take being like this anymore. Because the consequences of my own actions are crushing me and I need someone to tell me it wasn't a mistake, even if they're lying, I just need to hear it, please.

"Because I can do what I want," is his reply. "Get some sleep."

He walks away and locks the door behind him. Clary supposes sleep would be nice, and turns away from it.

[whumpanini]

"You've disappointed me, whumpee."

Whumper sneers as they tighten their grip around the whumpee's jaw, fingers pressing in painfully to their cheeks.

"You couldn't even kill those weak, pathetic excuses for humans."

Whumpee's eyes well up with tears as they clutch desperately to whumper's arm and wrist. "I can do better, I swear it. I can learn!"

"I should just cut my losses and end you right here. Then you wouldn't prove to be such a stain on our kind."

Whumper tilts their head, observing whumpee curiously. "But there is a desperation in your eyes that I could kindle into a fire. Perhaps I'm not done with you just yet."

"Thank you! Thank you, whumper!"

"Don't thank me just yet. You'll be remade completely anew.

Don't disappoint me this time."

[the-three-whumpeteers]

There were no search parties, no worried people looking for the whumpee- and the whumper didn’t know what to think about it all. The whumper had been hesitant to hurt the whumpee in the first place- it was their job, but it wasn’t a job they enjoyed. Slowly but surely, the whumper began to care for the whumpee, giving them more food, giving them warm blankets- they didn’t want to hurt someone that had been so hurt already.

[whump-in-the-closet]

11. Negotiation is Not Your Strong Suit

previous.

cw: blood mention, injury mention, inhuman whumpers, knife mention

Your hands are shaking as you step out from behind the tree, palms outward. You drop your knife, and it lands on the grass with a soft thud. 

“Can we not discuss this in a civilised manner?” 

Two of the Council’s agents shift forward, their cloaks dragging behind them. One stays behind, watching you with empty eyes. She keeps a hand resting on Valian’s head. 

Valian. 

They keep their eyes on the ground, but even from this distance you can see that their breathing is far too fast and far too ragged. You think they’ve been crying, but it's hard to tell. 

You’re far more concerned with your own fate. 

One of the agents– she has white hair like a cloud and lightning in her eyes– picks up your knife, testing the blade against one of her fingers. Not a single drop of blood appears though she stabs it deep. She smiles. “I think it’s very uncivilised of you to invite yourself here.” 

Her companion nods. “Very unhealthy.” She begins to circle you and you’re left with the distinctly uncomfortable impression of a hawk circling a small forest creature. Your skin crawls at the thought. 

“I– I hope we can come to some agreement. I did not mean to interfere.” 

Valian muffles a sob. 

“Did you not come to rescue them?” The agent with lightening eyes gestures to Valian. 

You frantically shake your head, a lie on your lips. But as you do so, you catch another glimpse of Valian. 

They’ve been pulled to their feet. The Council’s agent now has two hands on them– one still on their head and the other gripping the back of their shirt collar. They look like they can hardly stand, crimson blood rolling down their arms and dripping onto the grass. Their eyes are red and puffy but they’re shaking their head at you. 

“Did you not come for your friend?” the agent repeats. The words bite at you, and you flinch back, bumping into another agent. She looks down at you, tilting her head to the side.  “Answer us.” Her voice echoes in a way that is so far removed from anything human that you’re left shaken.

taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

AilessWhumptober 23 - 5 Hostage

Near Unbreakable 1/2

Summary: This badass lady is the Second-in-command of her beloved team. She can kick anyone’s ass and the tiny Whumper is obviously no match for her. So when she volunteers to stay with the guy for one day, nothing bad is gonna happen….right ?

badass whumpee/protective caretakers/pathetic whumper

tw: hostage, lady whump, torture (implied), death threats, locked in a small space

***

“You ? It’s you ?” burst out Leader to the grinning face of Whumper. “You’re the one who are supposed to meet us ? Oh, the deal is off. Let me offer this instead.”

He drew out his combat knife, his face grim.

“You give us what we want and I don’t gut you like a fish. On second thought, I might do it anyway.”

“Do that and see how this is going to work out for you,” purred the tiny man. “You promised to let a hostage for the day to my team, and I guarantee you that you won’t like what will happen if you don’t.”

Leader's hand clenched on his weapon:

“I agreed because I thought you were fired and starving somewhere like you deserve.”

“Well, life is full of disappointment. I thought that after our little meeting, you would die of blood loss.”

Some teammates couldn’t help but glance at the right arm of their Leader – the one that missed a hand. The man had a small smile of contempt. His knife glinted.

“Come and see for yourself how helpless I am, coward.”

The Mediator, who was the diplomat of the team, squeezed his shoulder.

“I don’t think this will be necessary. In our negotiations, we have made very clear that if we found a single scratch on the hostage, we would retaliate once we were done. They agreed on this, they even proposed to give us the potential offender.”

“Oh, I see,” groaned the Leader. “So they were counting on the sadistic bastard to go berserk on one of my men so they could get rid of him by giving him to us, while keeping their hands clean ? It that what that means ?”

“I thought he was dead,” whispered Mediator. “We all thought he was. Am I calling them ?”

“There’s no time ! We need to do this today ! Let’s go back, team. We’ll find another way.”

He was going to turn around, but another hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up, up and up to meet the eyes of his Second-in-command.

“You’ve just said it,” she softly said. “There is no time.”

“So ? ”

“Don’t sweat it, boss. I’m gonna stay with him. You don’t need me to finish the mission.”

“No. No way. Absolutely not. You are not doing this.”

“ Then what ? People are counting on us. We can’t fail. I can do this. Besides ” -she rubbed her thumb and her index together - “ I could snap him in two between my fingers.”

“Well great, you’ll do this after the mission, as a treat – come on.”

“It’s just for one day. I’m gonna be all right.”

Leader was going to retort, but he glanced at the scowling face of Whumper, who stared at the mountain of muscles that was his Second-in-command. He was still repulsed by the idea, but a small part of his mind was entertained by the idea of letting alone the tiny, slimy bastard with someone who could break coconuts with her bare hands. Besides, she was right. There was no time to lose, and doing what was planned was the quickest way to finish the mission.

“If I might interrupt,” sniveled Whumper, “that doesn’t seem quite logical to me. You have to admit, Leader, that Mediator has made a big mistake in negotiating. He did neglect my resurrection and I resent that. He should be the one to stay behind.”

His eyes examined the small, thin Mediator with something that looked way too much like hunger. Leader, Second-in-command, and other Teammates took a step forward.

“Come and take him”, they retorted at once.

Whumper recoiled, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“ Fine, fine. The huge lady it is.”

The Leader examined her, a worried expression in his face.

“ I don’t like it. I hate it. You sure about this ?”

She nodded, her eyes soft:

“Trust me.”

“Don’t get cocky. The bastard is rotten as hell. He will try to stab you in the back.”

“He won’t be able to. Rely on me, please. The stakes are too high.”

Leader narrowed his eyes at Whumper.

“One scratch”, he grunted. “One single scratch. And you’re done.”

He squeezed the arm of his Second-in-command:

“And you, toughie, we’re getting you back in one piece at sunset. This is a promise. And an order.”

“I got it, boss.”

He hugged her grumpily, and so did the other members of the team, promising they would be back for her as soon as they could, as if they were going for an easy stroll themselves instead of a dangerous journey. The Mediator hugged her the tightest of all.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

She tapped his cheek playfully in answer, and soon after they were all gone. Whumper and Second-in-command were left alone, staring at each other.

“Nice home you have,” she said. “You play base ball ?”

“No, why ?”

“Oh, so you don’t need that bat on the grass, then.”

She picked it up. The wood creaked when she broke it on her knee. She threw the two parts away from her and stared at Whumper, who looked at her with wide eyes and took a step back.

“I get it lady, I get it – you’re scary. How about a non-aggression pact, uh ? You don’t touch me, I don’t touch you. On second thought, I don’t even want to be near you. Tell you what.”

He pointed at her at a cute little hexagonal structure on the garden, with transparent walls.

“ This is my winter pavilion, where I go to read sometimes. I put a lock on the outside because some kids kept stealing my gardening tools. How about you stay there for the day ?”

She shrugged:

“Fine. But first you’re calling your chief. And then you’re taking a picture of me and you send it to them.”

“Is that really necessary ?”

“Yes. I’m making sure they know we fulfilled our end of the deal. I’m not letting you lie and put my team in jeopardy.”

“You’re no fun,” sighed Whumper, “but as you wish.”

The call being made, she went to the little pavilion and allowed him to lock her in. He had taken care of putting away the gardening tools before, which had made her roll her eyes, so she had plenty of space for herself. She sat nearby a little pile of books, but there were all botanical guides, and none of these interested her. Soon enough, she rested her cheek on the hardcover and went to sleep. Dawn had barely broken.

She woke up with a throbbing headache. Grunting, she held out her hand, groping for her bag. (Whumper had tried to suggest she could do without, but she had given him A Look and he had not mentioned the subject anymore. She had already left her weapons behind but as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need them and it was the only compromise she was willing to make.) Pulling out her flask and taking a sip, she winced. The water was warm. She forced herself to drink a little, but her stomach growled in disagreement. Still, she drank. The Mediator was very adamant about making his teammates stay as hydrated and well-rested as possible. In fact, he was the only reason why her flask was full to begin with (and her bag much too full of snacks).

She stared wishfully at her phone, but she had no one to call. It would have been useless at best and dangerous at worst to distract her teammates or signal her presence in any way to anyone else. Besides, the reception here seemed not very good. She poured a little water on her hand and rubbed it on her temples and neck. That relieved her a bit. Since it was officially the morning now, she wondered if she should eat. At the thought, her stomach turned into a knot. The idea of eating anything solid made her wince. Frowning, she touched her forehead. It was burning. She clicked her tongue, her throat already dry, and watched outside.

Whumper’s garden was nothing to be proud of. There were some cacti here and here that seemed to do well - they looked even taller than her - but the rest of the plantations seemed wilted. Burnt, even. She glanced at the yellow grass, then at the sky. It was a magnificent blue, without a cloud on the horizon. Even inside, she felt the scorching of the sun, so she looked for a little shade. There was none. Every furniture had been taken away. There was only the pile of books. Grunting, she put a cap on. It was not optimal, but it was better than nothing. She accidentally touched the walls and recoiled. There were white-hot. On the other side, there were the gardening tools, and finally she realized something. A detail.

She wasn’t in a pavilion. She was in a greenhouse. And she was going to understand how an ant felt under a magnifying glass very soon.

The sequel (prompt Heat Stroke) is here.

[shywhumpauthor]

What are some of y’alls favorite intimate whumper tropes—strictly nonsexual though, this Whumper doesn’t want a plaything they just want some friends and if their friends don’t want to stay friends, they get mad.