#reader is whumpee

[jaeyleo]

I HOPE IM NOT TOO LATE but

Whumpee's head in someone's lap and "I'll be good! i promose!" With corrupt Morus and Reader? 👀

this is sooo old anon i am holding your hands in my hands and hoping you still see this 🥲🫶

a little something while you wait for part 10 of locks or keys, or for those interested in my other works <3!

cws: reader's pov, reader is whumpee, non human whumper, corrupted!marvin au, blood, mentions of torture, knife, non sexual noncon touching, intimate whumper ?? i think?? let me know if i should add more!

. . .

Your bones are chilled to your core.

Blood seeps out of open wounds, glistening in the light like stars in a deep sky. You're so cold, so shakey, so afraid. Your captor kneels beside you, hands roaming over your skin to sink into the cuts and bruises he's made into your flesh. You can't help the whimpers and yelps that crawl up your throat. You just wish you had enough strength left to push him or yourself away.

Pearl eyes stare at the ground while he discovers what's happening to you with his hands. Blood, he feels. Flesh, he feels. Trembling, bone, vessels, nerves, hair standing up on end. Soaked shirt. Tears. Warm face. Warm breath.

He drifts his hands to find the knife again. In a moment of panic, you try to shove yourself off the ground. You get up to your elbows before he snatches your hair, dragging you down so your head meets his lap. He looks down at you, but his eyes see nothing.

"Don't go," he says gently. His hand relaxes in your hair to pet, to soothe. The knife comes to your throat, positioned over your carotid artery. Is he going to kill you?

"Please," you sob, tears dripping hot and fat behind your ear. "I'll be good, I promise, just-- p- please."

Marvin tilts his head. He drapes his hand around your neck to feel the thump, thump, thump, in the vessels. Your heart beats like a rabbit staring at a snake in their burrow. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, only death wrapping itself tight around your body. Only your captor wrapping fingers gentle around your throat.

"I'll be good," he mimics you, whispering. "I'll be good."

He keeps one hand on your pulse, while the other explores the seams of your clothes with the blade.

[defire]

Tropes that always give me whumperflies

Content: noncon nudity, manhandling, injuries, beating, fear, defiant/stoic whumpee

Throwing whumpee onto their knees before the enemy leader and holding them there by the back of the neck

Whumpee half-curled into a fetal position as they're being relentlessly kicked

Whumpee forced to strip. And doing so flushing and getting ashamed.

Whumpee shuddering and shaking from exhaustion caused by screaming, resisting, and fear

Wiping blood off hastily, grabbing injuries, making faces as they try not to cry

Ripping their pants down or shirt up so roughly it jerks whumpee's body

The broken sob that's kind of the end of a cry they barely managed to hold in

Whumpee feeling stupid, humiliated, even though anyone would, in their position

Sweating, swallowing, and keeping their face under control, trembling as they are inspected

Being twisted by the wrist, spun around, and slammed face-first into a wall or desk

Compromising positions like whumper sitting on their butt, in a non-sexual, violent way that just emphasizes the desperate physical struggle.

Grabbing them by the face to look at them and make snide observations about how scared they are

Slapping whumpee in the cheek

Small whumpees being thrown around and restrained physically by big whumpers

Grabbing their hair to slam them into the wall and whispering something in their ear that makes whumpee grimace

"turn around and face the wall."

Slapping a knife wound or gunshot injury and whumpee winces, cries and curls over the injury

A sarcastic remark dying on whumpee's lips as they see what whumper brought to beat them with

A stoic whumpee after a long time of taking a beating with only grunts of pain, groaning as a bone is broken, and as whumper raises their boot to kick again, whumpee hoarsely cries "wait wait, please! --please wait!"

[solar-wing]

⚣ Paralyzed 🕷️

⚣🕷️ A/N → so the yandere/whump fic starring our very own Miguel O'Hara becomes a reality. watching his scenes back in the movie really gets you thinking. Either way definitely will be doing more content with him. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Yandere Miguel O'Hara | Darling Male Reader | Reader is Spiderman in their dimension | Abduction/Kidnapping | Forced Paralysis |Bondage | Emotional & Mental Manipulation |

⚣🕷️ Summary → He should've seen the signs. Should have paid attention to the warnings. If he'd been aware of what he was capable of, he could've been prepared, or at least gotten away safely. Then again, an obsession was something people didn't just give up easily, especially Miguel O'Hara.

⚣🕷️ Words → 2.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🕷️

The signs were clear from the beginning.

All he could think about as his body lay limp was how he missed, or rather ignored every single sign that led to this. Every red flag that was warning him of this moment as the cause of his current paralyzed state kneeled behind him, propping his body up while fastening and securing the scarlet-red web bonds around his body.

“No more running. No more hiding. No volverás a escaparte de mí, cariño.”

The words were not met without merit. From his securely tied legs to the red webs wrapped around his body keeping his arms trapped to his sides, his captor took away any possibility of an escape attempt. He'd lost him once, and he would allow even the slightest chance of losing him again to exist in this dimension or any other for that matter.

It didn't stop him from trying though as he struggled, doing his best to will his body into healing and purging the paralytic toxins from his blood so he could regain his mobility. But, it was no use.

His fate had been set in stone as he was lifted off the ground and placed on the hulking man's shoulder, carried out of the motel room he’d been hiding staying in, the last view of his freedom slipping away farther and farther. Now, it was back to a life of captivity and restrictions all around him, bound to someone he would never love, but who would never not love him.

Had Y/N known Miguel O’Hara, aka Spiderman 2099, would have turned out to be an obsessive and demented mental case, determined to live out his failed love life through him, he'd have thought twice before accepting the Spider's invitation to join his team. Heck, he never would've even showed up to that damn fight with that anomaly on his Earth all that time ago that led to all this.

*13 Months Ago*

Y/N could hear the static noise from the police scanner that was in his book bag, ears perking at the voice coming on the other side detailing an incident or attack at Madison Square Garden, where his dad and other police were working security detail for an event. From the description, it sounded like Kraven, only Y/N couldn't think of a reason why he would attack such a massive event when his usual goal was always to capture him.

However, when Y/N arrived on the scene after getting the police and his dad out of harm's way, he was surprised to see that whoever the Kraven that he knew was not the Kraven attacking the event center. In fact, he wasn't even sure this was Kraven, though he had the same attire. This guy was massive, built like a giant, and dressed like a caveman or Neanderthal.

He apparently shared similar abilities to the hunter he knew, able to track him and move fast, but unlike his usual counterpart, the one in front of him seemed to be stronger. And it would seem he knew him too or at least another version of him if the way he started screaming "Spider! Spider! Spider," over and over again, switching his focus from attacking random attendees and venue staff to now trying to catch him.

Of course, different person, with different tactics, ones Y/N was not used to as he leaped, dodged, and fought with the primate Kraven in the event center, the guy seemingly trying less to straight up kill him and more trying to capture him. Maybe not that different from his Kraven at all.

After some more time and failed attempts, the primate hunter seemed to realize he wouldn't be able to catch him or his web the way he was trying and instead changed tactics, making a break for the door. Panicking at the thought of this guy getting loose in his city, he without thinking rationally went after him only to fall right into hunter's trap when he found himself getting tackled into a wall after the guy jumped out of his hiding spot when he realized his lure worked.

His mind was fuzzy as the hunter held him against the wall by his neck, his feet not touching the ground. He was struggling to breathe and was trying to free his wrists from the tight grip they were being held in.

"Caught you, Spider," the hunter chuckled, squeezing tighter, his large fingers digging into the flesh of his neck as he lifted him off the wall and held him in the air. Y/N's eyes were wide with fear, his hands holding on the wrists of the hunter as he struggled to breathe and keep himself up.

Suddenly, he was over the hunter's shoulder, his vision blurry from the lack of oxygen and the rapid movement.

"Let me go!" He heard a raspy voice shout, and it took him a minute to register that it was his own. He was kicking and fighting, but the hunter held him tightly, not allowing him any chance of escape.

The hunter walked slowly through the empty hallways of the arena as the sound of police sirens rang outside, seemingly overwhelmed by all the noises around him but still looking for something. "Den. Home. This not home," he grumbled, his voice deep and low.

"No kidding," He mumbled, continuing his struggle as he was carried.

The hunter's hand gripped the back of his knees, squeezing slightly in warning. "Find den. Go home."

When they made it to the stadium center, Kraven stood at the top of a staircase looking around while the Spider looked for a way out. While he was looking, he found himself abruptly, on the ground and no longer being held by the hunter, who seemed to be having some uncontrollable, tweaking moment.

Weird, but convenient until the Hunter grabbed him again before he could web away to a safe distance. Suddenly, just behind where they came from, something bright and wide appeared in the middle of the path, swirling with colors, like a portal.

"What the..." He didn't get a chance to finish before the hunter turned around to also observe the phenomenon, a loud whirring coming from it before a red and blue figure suddenly shot out of the portal, tackling the primate Kraven, causing him to drop the Spider again.

Serves him right.

When Y/N made his way down to the floor, he came across his savior, standing up from the ground with a digital cape that dematerialized as he stood up to his full height. His head turned slightly to the approaching Spiderwing behind him cautiously.

"Okay, weird and spontaneous entrance aside, and thanks for the save, but who the heck are you?" Y/N asked.

"Classified," the man, Miguel said, his voice was gruff, and his demeanor overly serious and imposing.

Y/N held a hand to his chin, analyzing the man before him, "Blue Assassin?"

"No," the man replied.

"The Red Caped Crusader?"

"No, I'm–"

"Attitude Dracula?"

"No, stop–"

"Cyber Luchador?"

"No, I'm from a different dimension," Miguel interrupted, his irritation growing.

"A different dimension?" Y/N feigned shock, "Yeah, that's not as shocking as you think it is, big guy."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what? How are you not freaked out by this? I just came out of a dimensional portal in the middle of a public arena and you're not surprised?"

"Dude, I got bit by a radioactive spider, got superhuman abilities, and fight crazy idiots on a regular basis who come up with all sorts of hair-brained schemes. Plus, I watch a ridiculous amount of SCI-FI and supernatural shows and movies. Different dimensions are really not as plot-twisting as you think it is. Now, back to the important questions...Emo Daffy?"

"Not funny," The man interjected, "My name is Miguel O'Hara, also known as Spiderman in my dimension like you are in yours."

"So, not Emo Daffy then? Huh, that name would've suited better," Y/N smirked, earning a glare from Miguel as he looked him over, noticing the watch on his wrist, "Oh, nice watch. That how you dimension hop?" He asked, reaching for the watch.

"It's much cooler than a watch," Miguel replied, reaching his wrist back to keep the smaller Spider at bay.

"Yikes, sensitive much? Well, nice to meet you, Miguel. But, there's a confused and brutish caveman hunter probably stomping around, that I should get back to dealing with, so if you don't mind," He pointed toward the direction they came from.

"From what I saw before I came in, better you stay out of the way.. I'll take it from here," Miguel responded, not so subtly shading him for his earlier 'position' with the hunter, who speaking of, was slowly creeping up behind the red-and-blue masked Spider.

"No problem, knock yourself out," Y/N said leaning to the side.

"Huh, why are you saying it like that?"

Y/N stepped to the side as a very pissed-off hunter charged and tackled him from behind, chuckling a little when Miguel yelled at him for not being funny before going to help.

With the added backup now (not that he needed it), Y/N could better focus his attacks now that the hunter's full attention was on him. And since his sudden new partner seemed to know more about this than he did, he got a little more context.

This version of Kraven was from a dimension where they indeed still lived like primates or cavemen, but still had their own developed societies. That world's version of Spiderman was this Kraven's target, that part remained consistent.

However, the reasons he was trying to capture the Spider may have been a little different than what Y/N was expecting. Suddenly, he found himself a bit more grateful for Emo Daffy's appearance.

But, despite their initial introduction, the two Spiders were able to work well together, and with this Kraven having no experience against their weapons and abilities, especially Miguel's, they were able to take him down fairly quickly. Y/N had missed the part where the Spiderman from 2099 used a more special ability to incapacitate the hunter, making it easier to handle him since he couldn't move.

After Miguel had properly secured the hunter, he used the same watch Y/N was ogling earlier to open another portal. Before he left, he delivered some unexpected news to the Earth-6998 Spider.

"Well, that's that. Nice working with you, Spider. Try not to almost get captured next time," he said, in a sarcastic tone.

"Can't help it that I'm such a prize in their eyes," Y/N said.

Despite his joking tone, an air of suspense could be felt by the smaller Spider. Y/N couldn't tell due to the mask, but there was a quick, almost fleeting moment where he could feel Miguel's gaze on him, staring him down. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Yeah, you are," he finally said.

Though, it was definitely plausible that he could've said that in a completely unserious, sarcastic manner as he'd been doing the entire time they'd spent fighting the hunter who was currently hanging over his shoulder (ironic), it didn't feel like it. There was something else there, a hint of emotion that Y/N couldn't pinpoint.

"Yeah, we'll see you around, I guess. Thanks for the help," Y/N said.

"Hold on," the older Spider interjected, "I know you just met me, but have you ever wondered exactly how many others like you are out there?"

"Like me? You mean other spiders? I mean, yeah sure. Pretty sure everyone has had that thought at some point," the younger man joked, "What's your point?"

Hence, the beginning of a new journey in the young Spiderwing's life, and the first warning sign ignored.

Miguel decided to take the scenic route home, wanting to enjoy the relieving feeling of finally having his love back in his arms safe. There was nothing wrong with him wanting to relish in his victory a little.

He did have to bite him again when Y/N's healing had managed to rid enough of his venom from his blood, giving him enough control back over his body to fight against his hold. Despite the warnings Miguel tried to give him, Y/N wouldn't listen, still trying to free himself, even if it wouldn't accomplish anything due to his restrained state.

And while it did hurt him to see his love fighting so hard to get away from him, Miguel couldn't deny the pleasure he got from forcing him into defeat. When the young Spider knocked himself a little too hard into the side of Miguel's head, the Earth-982 reveled in sick joy grabbing his prize off the ground, pressing him against the brick surface, and forcing his head to the side so he could sink his venomous fangs into the delicate skin once more.

He only injected a small dose, not wanting to leave any permanent effects on him, but he enjoyed the feeling of the smaller body squirming against his own until it eventually went limp once more. The sounds of his moans and whines as he bit and kissed his skin, tasting his flesh, was a delicious symphony to his ears.

"If I were you Y/N, I would quit it with the defiant behavior and escape attempts. I may have been easy on you since I was so relieved at finding you safe, but don't think I'm above handling you with more forceful methods. Especially considering my unaddressed grief from your long disappearance. All that to say, no me presiones, cariño," Miguel whispered into his ear, a threat and a promise.

Miguel's elongated claws pressed into the helpless Spider's body, eliciting more whimpers from the paralyzed man. Even in his powerless state, the brawny Latino could feel the distress and panic from the smaller Spider, which accomplished nothing but turning him on.

He could've taken him right there in that alley. Could've forced him on his knees and fucked his mouth, or pressed his face against the wall and taken him from behind, his cries muffled against the cold bricks, the fabric of his suit torn to expose parts of his body from their earlier scuffle in his motel room.

He was already half-hard in his suit, his member twitching and aching to be released, missing the tight heat of his love's body. But, he was a patient man. He could wait until the time was right.

Miguel looked down into the orbs staring up at him in hatred and fear, feeling his gut twist unpleasantly at the sight. He do something about that in the future, vowing to earn his love's affection and respect, to make him happy, and to show him that the life he wanted to give him was worth the freedom and choices taken away.

But, for now, he was content to accept the docile and forced submission from the Spider, his expression in defeat but the defiant spirit in his eyes still there. He'd take care of that too in time.

Y/N stared up at the man towering above him, truly seeing him as the monster and villain that he hid from everyone around him. This was the real Miguel O'Hara, a sight that lived in his nightmares before and would continue to with this new memory burned into his mind for ages to come.

"Let's go, mi amor,” Miguel said, hoisting the paralyzed man onto his shoulder once more, "Nunca volverás a estar lejos de mí, mi amor."

☀️ | Miguel O'Hara/Spiderman 2099 | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[whump-a-saurus]

i love whumpers that are just fucking delusional, that genuinely think they are in a loving, healthy relationship with their whumpee.

like they brag to their friends about having “such an awesome partner” and how they’re “so excited they are moving in with them”, when in reality their “partner” is tied up in the basement with a black eye and multiple broken ribs.

i just think that’s so silly of them ^^

[imagine-darksiders]

Future chapter of On the Ropes because I definitely want to write more black-eyed, feral Monty. He's not squeezing Y/n's wrist btw, he's still holding her gently, dw

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No. 13 & No. 28

Prompt 13: Multiple Whumpees

Prompt 28: No holds barred beatdown (Alt)

Warnings: Violence

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Your head snapped to the side with the next punch, a splatter of blood painting the wall. You couldn’t deny the pain, but it came secondary to your worry for your family experiencing the same treatment. Especially Daryl. You could hear his grunts and moans, as well as each impact that elicited them.

“Leave them alone!” You pleaded, earning another kick to your ribs.

“Then tell us what we want to know!” Your captor demanded. You heard Maggie cry out, Rick spitting his own threats, Michonne and Daryl attempting to fight back. “Otherwise, we just beat all of you to death and wait for someone else in your group to come looking for you.”

“She ain’t tellin’ ya nothin’!” Daryl spat.

“None of us will!” Michonne followed up.

A boot connected with your forehead. Your vision whited out. Daryl called your name, his voice distorted. Your mind was hazy, a fog surrounding it that was so thick, it concealed any coherent thought onto which you might try to latch. He called your name again, a bit clearer this time. Sight and sound began to return, blurry and full of static.

“Y/N, hey. Wake up, woman.” You felt Daryl’s calloused hands on your face, your skin almost too numb, too impaired by the pain to really register his touch. “Aaron’s here. Abraham. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

His bloodied face, dark with bruising and exhaustion, was slowly coming into focus. You smiled, tasting the iron of blood on your tongue.

“You—you look like shit.”

Daryl chuckled. “Guess ya think ya look like the prom queen.”

“Maybe—Carrie.”

Shaking his head, Daryl began to tenderly scoop you into his strong arms. “S’go home, Sunshine.”

[thewhumpcaretaker]

ok ok ok your sub! john drabbles actually gave me the best idea. tattoo artist x john wick

tattoo artist reader is there to comfort him and make sure he’s okay and doesn’t pass out esp if it’s his first tattoo.

also writing this made me remember a fic i read that’s not finished but breaks my heart

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060659/chapters/50100092 if you want to read 🖤

Thank you so much for this ask!! I've been thinking about this idea for a while actually. There was another ask about this a long time ago, maybe on my JohnWickCaretaker blog? I can't find that one, but if that was also you, then thanks a second time. Also, yaaaaay, fic recommendation! 🖤

John Wick x Tattoo Artist Reader (Gender Neutral)

Author's Note: John is a little younger in this one (I’m picturing him being 18-19), so he’s not as mature. He’s even more shy and gets defensive more easily. Also, I'm not a tattoo artist, and haven't gotten any tattoos, so this is just based on what I've read about it!

CW: forced to get a tattoo, tattoo needle, crying, reader swears frequently, bittersweet ending

Image sources: 1 2 3

“You have time for a walk-in?”

You didn’t even hear this guy open the door. Once you’re done being startled, you notice…him. You’re not supposed to let yourself think this way about clients, but shit, he’s cute. He looks soft. Mostly clean shaven, with a thin, elegant face (maybe it’s the high cheekbones), topped off with a mop of dark hair. And probably inexperienced, based on how nervous he looks. A little part of you wonders how this is going to go for him. “You’re in luck. What’s your name?”

No answer.

“Can I see an ID?”

He hesitates awkwardly. “I’m coming from Mrs. Petrov.”

Oh. So he’s one of these. You doubt that’s her real name, but Mrs. Petrov sailed into your shop one day offering to double the usual price if you’d keep quiet and ask no questions, and you sure need the money. Your skin is crawling a bit but you take a deep breath and get into it.

“Okay, good enough for me. What design are we looking at?”

He hands you a paper. It’s the same one you’ve seen half a dozen times: hands touching in prayer over an image of the cross. Guys come to you for this tat again and again, “from Mrs. Petrov.” One told you it was a mark of his acting troupe, another said it was a family crest, another a symbol of his church. They’re probably all lying, but you know better than to call them on it – or to turn any of them away. You’re pretty sure it’s a mob thing. It breaks your heart a little bit to think he’s caught up in all that. He doesn’t look the part. But then, you also know better than to judge by looks alone.

You gesture to the chair. “Settle in, face down. It’s better if we have your shirt off.” He’s way too delicious underneath it. The perfect canvas...shhhhh stop it. You’re a professional and he’s…god knows what. “This will take about four or five hours. Is that okay?”

He nods.

“Silent type I guess?”

That gets a faint smile before he lays across the bench, chin resting on folded arms. You flip the Open sign to Closed, pull on your gloves, and start prepping tools. You turn on the radio to 80s rock, filling the silence between you - though it doesn’t feel like a stressful silence, surprisingly. Both of you know how odd this situation is and you’re both just trying to get through it. There’s a camaraderie to that.

You glance down at the design in your hand and whistle. It’s pretty big, taking up most of the center of his back, between the scapulas. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, well I’ll be real with you: this is going right over the spine, so you can expect some pain. Nothing that’ll kill you, just…not super pleasant. So I’ll check in from time to time, see how you’re doing. If you need a break, we can take one.”

“I won’t.” He sounds pretty sure of that. Standing behind him, you shake your head. It’s always the ones that are so sure…

“Well, after a while, I’ll need one.” You run disinfecting wipes over the center of his back and set to work. When the needle touches down for the first time, he winces once, but he doesn’t wince again for the next ten minutes of linework. It takes you that long to realize that he’s barely breathing. “Your muscles are tense, buddy. I need you to relax for me or this will hurt more.”

“…I just…don’t want to move.” There’s something so sweet about the way he says it.

“You won’t move. You’re actually less likely to shake if you can let yourself go totally limp, like you would if you were about to fall asleep. Here, sit up for a second, take a deep breath, and stretch out.” He listens, but he’s not looking at you. You’re pretty sure he’s blushing.

“Okay. I’m relaxed.” Liar. You can still feel the knots in his muscles when you touch him again. But at least it’s a little better than before, and he’s getting impatient. “Keep going.”

Well, the customer is always right. “Alright, let’s do it.” You grab your pen and get back into place. The best you can do is try to distract him. “How did you choose this tattoo anyway?” Might as well see what story this one will make up.

“I didn’t.” That’s probably the truest answer you’ve heard so far.

“Do you…like it?” God, you hope so.

“Not really.”

“…You’re telling me I’m putting something on your body right now that you don’t want there?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly. “Forget it.”

That’s probably for the best anyway. You’ll get too pissed off if you keep going down this line of questioning. You take a deep breath and try for something lighter. “So what do you, uh…do for fun?”

“Reading, mostly.”

“Oh, sweet. You read anything good lately?”

“Kind of. I’m reading Anna Kerenina.” He slips into a faint accent when he says it, and you have a suspicion.

“What translation?”

“Just the Russian.” He sounds a little annoyed, like you caught him out on something. You suppose you did, and it was kind of fun.

“Bilingual. That’s badass.”

“Thanks.” There’s silence again for a minute, but it feels friendlier.

“So what do you think of it?”

“It’s...fine.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of dry.”

“I guess, but I don’t mind that. I just don’t like Anna and Vronsky. Which is Tolstoy’s whole point, but…”

“They’re both little shits to everyone. Makes it hard to get invested.”

“Right, exactly.” He shifts his chin. “If I was married, I can’t imagine cheating.” From some people, a line like that would sound like a transparent attempt to come across as a “nice guy.” But he says it so wistfully, you know he means it.

Don’t say what you’re about to say. Don’t say it. Be professional.

…Fuck it, you’re doing this under the table anyway. “Are you dating anybody?”

“No.” It sounds so bitter that, for a second, you think you really are dealing with a nice-guy-impersonator. But then he clarifies. “My…lifestyle doesn’t allow for that.”

“Oh.” You can’t think of any way to reply that doesn’t involve the burning questions in your mind about what exactly this “lifestyle” entails. So you lapse into silence again, for much longer this time, just thinking, wondering what it’s like to be one of these young men with the cross tattoos. Are they all friends with each other? What exactly do they do? Is it difficult? How does it pay? How did they get into it?

You stop when you’re done with the linework. “Okay, that went great! We’re totally done with the outlines, which is half the battle. I’m going to take a break before we start on the shading.” You circle around in front of him to grab your water bottle, and catch a glimpse of his face as he’s straightening up.

He’s wiping off silent tears.

Your heart almost drops out of your chest. “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but it sounds hoarse and shaky. “Just hurt more than I expected.” He huffs a laugh, trying to play the whole thing off as unimportant.

“Dude, I told you we can take breaks if you need. If you’re crying from pain, you’re too tensed up. Tell me next time, alright?” Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re rubbing his shoulder. He freezes for a second, and you pull back. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean to – “

“No, it’s okay. I’m just not used to that.”

“Damn, how do they treat you at Mrs. Petrov’s place?” You’re half joking, but you want to know more and more by the second. And when he just looks grave and doesn’t answer, your heart does that weird dropping thing again.

“…Let me get you a water, okay? I’ll be right back.” You’re grateful for the short walk to the mini fridge you keep in the back of the parlor. It feels so heavy in that room. You’re starting to wish you hadn’t taken the deal, because whatever this is, you don’t want to be involved.

When you come back, he’s perfectly composed again, but looking at you more carefully this time, like he’s finally really seeing you. After he takes a drink of water, he hesitates for a second. “My name is Jardani.”

Warmly, “Nice to meet you.” You take the bottle back and set it on the table, within reach. “You’ll tell me if you get overwhelmed next time?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m trusting you.”

You watch him settle in and get back to work. It’s okay at first but there’s a dark shadow under those praying hands that needs to go right over his spine. It’s basically pure black. A couple minutes into it, he exhales sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for a while. “Stop.”

You set your pen down right away. “You got it.” You pull up a chair next to him and he turns to look at you, without sitting up. He’s really pale. “How are you feeling?”

“Lightheaded.”

“Yeah, you can pass out if you get tense like that for too long. But you’re okay. We can take as long as you need.” You put your hand on his shoulder again, massaging it, and this time, he lets you. You can feel some of the tension finally seep away and the color returns to his cheeks. The dark pools of his eyes are fixed on yours, and if you aren’t careful, you feel like you could fall into them and drown. There’s something trapped in cold waters down there, pleading for rescue.

Yeah, sure. If you were being unprofessional before, now you’re being a downright sentimental fool. This guy has probably shot people.

Despite being deep and rumbling, his voice sounds so quiet that it’s almost shy. “You don’t know what this means to me, to have a…nice moment... Thank you.”

“Oh – you’re welcome. It’s nothing, really.” You’re absolutely done for. “Um, do you want to stand up and stretch before we get back at it?”

“Mm-hm.”

Your brain is fried but you manage to hold it together while the both of you get back into position. The rest of the session goes pretty smoothly, and you talk a little more here and there. At first it’s just about how he should take care of this thing when it’s finished – staying out of the sun and all that. But then he starts to ask you about yourself - what you read, how you got into tattooing, your favorite designs. Everything you say seems to interest him. You can’t quite believe it but he’s obviously developing a crush on you. Or at least getting attached in some way. You can’t blame him, if the smallest friendly touch is such a foreign concept.

It's too soon when you place the finishing touches. “Okay! You want to take a look?” You help him up, his hand resting in yours for an instant as he slides off the bench, stiff and probably aching. It sends a jolt straight to your heart, to support some fraction of his weight and to feel the way his fingers squeeze down on yours before letting go. You mourn the contact instantly, and distract yourself by adjusting the two mirrors that reflect into each other, allowing him to see his back. “What do you think?”

“It does look cool actually.” He cracks a little heart-melting smile, and you’re really relieved. He may not have wanted it, but at least he’s not devastated.

“’Course it does, it was done by the best in the business,” you joke. Though to be honest, you really are impressed with your handiwork. Doing the same tattoo so many times pays off – each one has looked more polished than the last. It’s almost a shame to see him put his shirt back on…for multiple reasons.

“Oh, uh…” He fishes something out of his pocket. A wad of hard cash – a LOT of it, as usual. “Here’s the payment.” And then he’s leaving, before you can do anything, say anything, even catch the breath you’d lost trying to comprehend everything that just happened.

“Hey, wait!” You don’t really know what you’re going to say, but then he’s facing you again and you have to say something, and it just comes out. “…Do you need help? I don’t know what’s going on, but look, I’m not an idiot. I know something’s wrong here. I don’t know who Mrs. Petrov really is and I don’t care, but if you need me to do something, like…I don’t know, call a social worker or something or help you get transport out of the city...” Your voice falters. You have no idea what he’d need and even less idea how to provide it without getting both of you killed. And what if you’ve misread the whole situation? What if you’re completely out of line?

It certainly looks that way. It’s like a switch flips in him. “No. Whatever you do, don’t fucking try anything. It’s none of your business.” It’s the coldest he’s sounded. “You won’t see me again.” The door slams behind him.

You brace a hand against the counter behind you, shaking. How could you be so stupid, honestly. This emotional roller coaster isn’t worth it. You wish you’d never seen Mrs. Petrov, let alone this Jardani with his damn pain-soaked eyes and cornered-dog behavior. There’s something awful going on, and you can’t do anything about it, you’re just making it worse. If you can get out of this deal, you have to, even if it means getting out of the city. Maybe out west - San Francisco sounds nice this time of year.

You’re just putting yourself back together and trying to decide what the hell you’re gonna do when the door flings open again and he storms back though it, stopping short right in front of you. For a second, you just stare at each other, breathing hard. Then he catches the flash of foolish happiness in your eyes at seeing him again and musters his nerves.

And he. Fucking. Kisses. You. Forcefully, with his strong hands gripping your arms and his teeth colliding with yours, pulling, desperate, rebellious, like he’s trying to tell you something he’s not allowed to say. You’re pretty sure it’s, “Thank you. For being one of the few people who cared.”

And then he’s gone again, and this time, you can feel it: he’s never coming back.

[unhonest-iago]

Alpha! Caretaker sitting outside Omega! Whumpee’s nest. Scenting all the objects their omega had offered up to them. The omega in whumpee is screaming at them to let the alpha in their nest but whumpee is still overly protective of the space. It was the one area whumper would never cross so even now, it was an area of refuge. That and they were calming down from an earlier panic attack.

Caretaker can sense the conflict waging on in their mind, so they continue sitting just outside the perimeter of the nest. Holding one of whumpee’s hands in their lap, trailing a thumb over the skin. And eventually, whumpee feels the overwhelming desire to be held. Squeezing their intertwined hand to get the Alpha’s attention. ‘C’mere.’

‘You sure, hun?’ Caretaker double-checks, making sure that’s what they want. ‘Mhm,’ the omega in them is waiting with bated breath. A sort of anxious excitement. ‘Okay,’ they slowly crawl into the nest, situating themselves behind whumpee and wrapping their arms around them. Listening as they emit content chuffs as the alpha pushes out a wave relaxed pheromones.

‘Get some sleep, love.’

[qin-qin16]

cw: dog-like cross, reader is really patient, a bit of a whump story, blood, angst with a bittersweet ending, more a platonic relationship?

note: i start to be influenced to see Cross with dog traits…

Cross learned to always bite first. Growling, barking, drooling — everything a dog did before attacking any threat, but not Cross. He always bit first, before anyone could lay a hand on him — he would never let that happen again, never. 

And in a wild moment, he sunk his teeth into your hand. His long, sharp canines punctured your skin, tearing at your palm as he shook his head. He braced himself for your scream, for you to hit him, for you to try to pull away—anything!

But what he didn’t expect was for you to tremble and then stand still. Just that. No scream, no slap, no curse, nothing. Your lips were pressed tightly together, clearly trying to keep quiet so you wouldn’t startle him further. In that moment, he realized: even as he bit into your flesh, you still thought of him first. 

With a pained whimper, he released your hand — it was slick with saliva, the marks of his teeth etched into your skin. It was a heartbreaking sight, your hand, so gentle, marked by Cross’s rage.

And like a dog seeking forgiveness, he licked your wound, the injury he had caused. His tongue brushed over your skin, wiping away the blood. You hissed, feeling the sting of the fresh injury. 

“I'm sorry…” he whispered, nuzzling his face into the palm of your hand. Cross didn’t mind about getting his own face dirty with saliva and blood, no. He only wanted your forgiveness, like a traumatized dog who no longer knew whom to trust.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

pov this guy keeps taking you hostage and you're starting to wonder if maybe it's a type of flirting

[wolfeyedwitch]

Hand stomp for Icarus?

With Bloody Outstretched Hands, Part 12: Hand Stomp

Thank you for your patience! Have Luke having a bad day.

CW: hand whump, prejudice against fictional group (superpowers), prejudice-motivated violence

Masterlist

---

Luke was halfway through his PT exercises when Zera came into the gym like a stormcloud. He watched as they all but stomped their way over to the wall of gear while they roughly tugged off their mask. Zera ran one hand through their bright blue hair before donning a pair of boxing gloves, stalking to one of the punching bags, and beginning to attack it like it had insulted their entire family.

Luke finished his set of exercises in a state of bewildered concern. This was far from the younger hero’s normal behavior. Usually Zera was almost disgustingly peppy while in the gym. A normal day would see them bopping their head along to whatever catchy tune they had blaring in their earbuds, enthusiastically running through one of the simulations the gym had to test their teleportation skills. A bad day would have them going through weapon forms at half-speed to ensure they got everything right. Luke wasn’t sure what it would take to get his coworker in this state, and he was almost afraid to ask.

Well. He didn’t become a hero out of an abundance of self-preservation instinct. 

“What’s got you all riled up?” he asked when Zera finally stripped off one glove to grab a water bottle. “Toss me one, too?”

They took a second bottle from the fridge and lobbed it underhand across the gym. Luke caught it in both hands. Nice; the PT was really paying off. A few months back he wouldn’t have had the dexterity or coordination to make that catch.

Zera gave a smile at whatever triumphant face Luke couldn’t help but make. Then they shook their head with a grimace. “It’s Bailey,” they said, setting down their water bottle and pushing their now-sweaty hair out of their face.

It was Luke’s turn to grimace. He understood why they were keeping the villain at their med bay, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Are they giving you trouble?”

Zera shook their head. “No, they’re eager to tell us everything they can. Maeve is probably going to have to call the interview, because I’d bet dollars to donuts that they’d push themself way too hard trying to give us info.”

“And end up paying for it sooner rather than later,” Luke said with a nod. Concussions were a bitch, even with a healer’s help. “So they aren’t being stubborn. What’s the problem?”

Zera frowned even harder. “The problem is that this whole thing is incredibly fucked up, Luke. I knew we had PR issues, after Marcus and his apprentice, but apparently the way the villains tell it is even worse. Slipknot was apparently using the threat of us as the stick to keep Bailey in line.”

“What was the carrot, then?” he asked, coming to stand next to the younger hero.

They shrugged. “A place to belong, someone helping them out after their parents died, a chance at making a difference in the world. Take your pick.”

It was Luke’s turn to frown. 

Zera noticed. “What?”

He hesitated. Zera was a good hero, but they were still pretty young, with the naivete that came with it. 

“What? You’ve got that face again. Come on, out with it, boomer,” Zera teased.

Luke shook his head with a huff of laughter. They were right to tease; he wasn’t that much older than they were, though he felt plenty ancient on days his injuries acted up. That didn’t change the difference in experience, though. Zera still had an optimism he’d lost somewhere between his first year as a hero and his extended stay in the ICU after his attack. 

“Just…” he started, trying to get his thoughts in order. “I dunno. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something. This all feels…” He broke off, unable to properly articulate it. 

Zera was already shaking their head. “Hell if I know. But they seem genuine enough. They aren’t trying to downplay anything they’ve done. If anything, they seem like they’re taking on too much accountability.”

He hummed noncommittally in response, but Zera’s words stuck with him as he headed out, leaving them to their workout. That was exactly what it was that had been bothering him. Bailey seemed guilty. They seemed like their conscience was weighing them down like Atlas.

On the one hand, that could have been any number of things. It was looking more and more like whatever relationship Bailey had with Slipknot had been abusive, and guilt was a common response in abuse victims. It could have just been the fact that Bailey had a conscience.

On the other hand… 

He was probably overthinking it. He should talk with his therapist, honestly. This was the exact kind of thing that Heroes League had therapists on staff to deal with. 

On the other hand, why would a supposedly small-time villain be so guilty? Because maybe they weren’t nearly as small-time as they seemed. Some small, unkind part of Luke couldn’t help but think that Bailey had to have done something to be feeling this guilty about. Just because they didn’t know what it was, didn’t mean it didn’t happen. 

The thoughts kept racing through his head like hamsters on a wheel, squeaky and annoying and going absolutely nowhere. They pestered him the rest of the day, no matter how he tried to ignore them. They were still there when he finally managed to get his insomniac ass in bed for the night.

Luke was no stranger to nightmares. He’d been an insomniac long before his injuries, but after? It seemed like any time he managed to steal a few minutes of sleep, some fucked-up nonsense was playing on the movie screen on the back of his eyelids. 

This dream seemed to follow the same recipe as most of them: take one soda of bad memories, add one mentos of dream logic, and shake vigorously. He was a kid, running over rooftops to escape from bullies. The next moment, he was flying over the city looking for a suspect for the Heroes League. He caught them; they caught him. 

The suspect held him over the edge of the roof—no, that was the kids. They caught him; he hadn’t run fast enough. 

Awww, are you scared, you little freak? You should be. Don’t you know we don’t want mutts like you around here?

(I thought you guys had rules about dangling people off buildings?)

He squirmed against the grip of the older boys, the ones who were always first with an insult or cruel “prank” against the kid who didn’t have enough control of his powers to keep from outing himself.

Why don’t you just float away? Get lost! 

Hands shoved him forward and pulled him back. He was falling—backwards? No, forwards, towards the edge of the roof. His hands barely came up in time to break his fall. 

You freaks are ruining the world for normal people! You can’t just run around flaunting what kind of mutant you are and expect us to sit back and let it happen!

(You can’t just ruin people’s lives and expect no repercussions!)

Someone, or maybe multiple, was kicking him. His weight shifted awkwardly on the edge of the roof. No, no, nonono, he was going to fall!

Cheering sounded in his ears, cruel and expectant. 

His legs went over the edge, torso slamming painfully into the side of the building. Now he was just holding on, and his hands were already starting to hurt. 

His fingers went from dull ache to sharp, hot agony in an instant. He opened his mouth to scream— (he… tried to? Was there something over his mouth?) but in true dream fashion, nothing happened. 

He looked up to see one of the bullies with a boot on his hand. The older boy gave an ugly grin and started to grind his heel into Luke’s fingers.

The cheering got even louder. 

Get him! Make him scream!

He looked down at the boot again. But wait, that wasn’t a kid’s shoe. 

That was a combat boot. Charcoal gray, and… familiar.

Luke looked up. 

It wasn’t his childhood bullies standing over him. This figure wore a red and gray outfit, menacing and eye-catching. 

Poppet scowled down at him and shoved their boot forward. Luke’s hand tore on the rough cement of the rooftop, before encountering nothing but air. 

He woke up before he hit the ground.

---

Dun dun dun! He's starting to remember!

Small text in parentheses is from Sadistic Choice.

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 @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one

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

@towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries

[defire]

Guys who wants to share your top 5 whump tropes?

Mine are

Defiant whumpee

Living weapon

Sadistic whumper

Gang whump

Ptsd

[peachesofteal]

WIP Wednesday? (I wasn't tagged but indulge me anyway?)

He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup that you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious that swallows you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you. 

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, venetian blue eyes catching the light just so, sparkling down towards you, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes that spiral outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken. 

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height.

[hatelangdon]

Fever

Pt 1, Pt 2 / 3k words.

(Franken!Kyle x Witch!Reader)

Hurt/comfort, & fluff, Slight angst (it's just me rambling about Kyle's mistreatment from the Coven)

(🚨 Warnings: Talks of Fever, Being sick, Vomiting (not in detail), seperation anxiety, Crying, Zoe and Madison being terrible caregivers so neglect, problems with eating and drinking🚨)

Summary: Kyle doesn't feel good, he hasn't for a while...but what he needs now is kindness, understanding, and care from someone who actually wants the best for him.

(A/N: We all just want Kyle to feel better, he's so sweet. You could honestly just read this one by itself, but if you want more lore I would look into the last 2 parts...I definitely got carried away so I understand if ya'll don't feel like reading all this but I TOLD YALL I LOVE WHUMP but Misty is back and Kyle is wearing silly straw glasses so how mad could you be? I would highly recommend that you listen to this song near the end of the story , it adds a layer of sentiment that I can't even describe. I hope you have all enjoyed this little series as much as i've enjoyed writing it <3)

Also, this is not proofread so there's probably errors, ya'll know the drill by now.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When you returned with the broom and dustpan to clean the glass up, Kyle was laying in the bed twirling the ring around his pinky. He was so enamored by its beauty that he barely even noticed when you came back, until you started to sweep the glass off the floor.

He realized your presence and perked up, watching you with big eyes.

“H-help?” He started sitting up, but you gently pushed him back down onto the pillows.

"I got it Kyle. You need to rest, and I don't want you to accidentally step on something" You assured him.

Cordelia had taught him how to sweep since he basically became the coven’s butler after Zoe and Madison decided to bring him back from the dead. This always raised ethical concerns in your mind because…why would they do that?  

Kyle must’ve had dreams of his own, he was in college, he had friends that cared about him, he had a life that he wanted to live. Now he was unable to communicate and in constant pain from the terrible stitch job that Madison and Zoe had used to put him back together. His body never felt like his own, and thats because it wasn't...fully; They had decided to stitch Kyle back together using the body parts of his fellow frat brothers, which caused a lot of issues for both his mental and physical health.

It was all wrong. He was wrongfully killed in a bus crash, by Madison's hand and then he was brought back to be Zoe and Madison's personal toy & used as "the help"

Bringing someone back from the dead after you killed them, just so you could have sex and make them clean your house and serve you drinks didn't seem morally correct or fair. Those two had played “build a boyfriend” with Kyle’s life and didn't even take care of him properly.

Kyle never once took his eyes off of you while you swept, he had always admired how pretty you were and how warm your heart was.

After all of the glass was cleaned up and disposed of, you sat on the side of the bed, gently taking your ring from Kyle's hand and putting it back on your finger

"I told you I would be back" you stroked his hand with your thumb, and he gave you a gentle, sleepy, smile.

“P-p-pretty” Kyle blinked at you, still smiling

“yeah, it is a pretty ring isn't it? I can get you one like it, would you like that Kyle?"

He took a minute, allowing himself to fully decipher your words, before nodding and placing a gentle hand on your cheek 

“Y-you pretty.” He blinked hard, and nodded again to insure you knew what he was talking about.

You felt your face heat up and your heart flutter like it housed a butterfly garden,

“thank you Kyle. You are very kind.”

Your words only made his smile bigger.

You had moved yourself to the side of the bed, your back resting on the wall. Kyle balled himself next to you, resting his head on your lap.

You rubbed the side of his head with your thumb to let him know that you were with him, even as he slept. You could feel that he still had a fever....in fact he was burning up. Luckily, he was being taken care of and resting, maybe that was all that he needed.

Kyle only slept for an hour before all hell broke loose

You had stayed where you were, you didn't mind since Kyle was resting peacefully on your lap and no one really noticed that you hadn't come out of your room, it was still pretty early in the day.

You just sat there watching tv on your phone. Kyle had started to stir in your lap, his eyebrows furrowed like he was uncomfortable. He curled in on himself tighter, practically hugging his knees to his chest.  

You ran your nails down his spine, hoping to comfort him a bit. His eyes suddenly opened and he sat up, looking panicked and tapping his chest desperately trying to convey something to you.

Your eyes widened, you were just as confused as he was

“Um- what's wrong? Are you choking?” You were very unsure “is it your stitches???”

Kyle’s eyes were tearing up and he started turning red, as he continued to try and show you what was wrong with him by patting his chest. He started gagging and you realized what the issue was, quickly. 

“NO! NO! KYLE PLEASE DO NOT THROW UP ON MY BED” You practically sprung 4 feet off the bed and tackled the trashcan by your desk, luckily there was a bag in it. You rushed it over and put it in front of him. 

“You’re okay Kyle, just let it up” you rubbed his back gently, as he dry heaved over the bin, sobbing. He didn’t understand why this was happening to him, why his stomach hurt so much, and why his throat burned. The muscle tension from him being bent over and heaving caused his stitches to pull on his skin, which made his experience much more painful.

You hated to see him this way, you didn’t think it would get this bad but he was clearly much sicker than you had anticipated, the sound of him being sick and his desperate cries broke your heart, but all you could do was stay there with him and talk him through it. 

“I know it hurts Ky, I know. Just keep breathing. It’ll be over soon.” You pressed your lips to the back of his neck, rubbing on his shoulders. 

You could tell he was finished when the heaving stopped and he was just crying with his head in the bin.

You took it away from him with your eyes closed tying up the bag, you’d deal with it later. 

Kyle was back lying on the bed, curled up in fetal position while his body shook with sobs. He was exhausted and everything hurt.

“Ky, I know you don’t feel good. I’m sorry.” You were gentle with him, squeezing his hand “I’m gonna get you something to drink okay? You need to hydrate. It’ll help your throat.” you tried to sound encouraging, but he didn’t seem to care at all. 

He turned to you, sniffling while his eyes still pooled with tears and his nose blushed in bright hue of strawberry rouge, he held his hand out expectantly.

You looked around confused at first, until you realized that he was eyeing your ring. He had remembered.

You smiled, and pushed it into his palm, closing his fingers around it and kissing the back of his hand.

You made your way down to the kitchen to get some water from the brita, you used some old water bottle you got from a school event, it was best to give Kyle a drink with a lid, because he was prone to suddenly jerking his body. You came back upstairs, where Kyle was staring at the wall completely worn out.

“I’m back, ky”

He just hummed, his eyes closed to keep the light out. You had noticed Kyle didn't like to drink water that much, he didn’t really know why he needed to, so Zoe and Madison would just give him Diet Coke and apple juice all day to keep him quiet. This was a habit you could have fixed, but you didn't feel like arguing and Kyle needed fluids and electrolytes in him immediately. 

You opened your nightstand, You kept cherry flavored liquid iv in your top drawer because you were also prone to forgetting to hydrate. You poured the powder in, shaking it up so it would be dissolved.

You kneeled next to the bed, running your hands through Kyle’s hair, massaging his scalp. 

“Here Kyle, sip it. I made it sweet for you, it’ll help you feel a bit better” 

He nodded, sipping on the water bottle, he liked it enough to take it from your hands and try to drink from it himself, it took him 10 seconds before accidentally squirting himself in the face, flinching

"Careful, Kyle" you took it from him, and he grunted. 

You looked around your room for a better straw for him to sip on, your eyes landed on your desk. You had a pair of those silly straw glasses, from your little cousin's birthday party. You looked between the glasses and Kyle's wet face and knew exactly what he needed. 

You grabbed them and tapped Kyle on the shoulder so he would look up at you.

“I’m gonna put these on you, alright?”

Kyle was intrigued by the tubing, but he recognized that they were also glasses of some kind and allowed you to put them behind his ears.

You were careful putting the straw back into the cup, making sure he would be able to actually drink it. 

“Okay Ky, these are very special glasses,” you showed him the part of the straw that went into his mouth and he just stared at you, tilting his head in confusion “You’re just gonna drink from it like a regular straw.” 

You helped him put it in between his lips and he did as he was told, sucking on it like a normal straw. When he realized that the liquid was circling his eyes and coming all the way around the glasses, he immediately gave you a giddy smile thinking it was the coolest thing in the world.

He suddenly latched onto your waist from where you stood in front of him, hugging you close. His head rested on your chest while he happily sipped on his water. This took you by surprise, but all you did was pat his blonde head and return the favor by wrapping your arms around his back, giggling at the unanticipated declaration of love.

“Y/n care Kyle?” He took the straw out of his mouth, lifting his head to look you in the eyes.

You nodded, giving him a smile. You had never felt so much love and admiration for someone in such a little amount of time.

“Yes Kyle, I care about you very much. I will always value you and make sure you’re treated well from now on.”

He smiled, and went back to sipping his drink through his silly little glasses, still holding onto you.

All you wanted to do was keep him safe and comfortable in your arms but you still had other things to attend to, like breakfast for both of you…well brunch.

“Kyle,” You were careful with your movements as you wriggled your way out of his grip, you watched his entire face drop as he reached out for you once again wondering why you suddenly didn’t want to cuddle him. It took every ounce of your strength to not jump right back into the bed and hold him.

“I gotta make us some food, are you hungry?��� You put your hands on the sides of his face.

“Hungry.” He repeated, nodding.

“Okay, I’m gonna make you something. Do you know what you want?” 

“Mac n cheese.”

“Alright, I’ll make you some Mac and cheese.” You made your way to the door and Kyle tried to follow, holding his water and looking at you like a lost puppy. 

“Ky, you can’t come. You’re sick honey.” You guided him back to the bed 

“Cold. B-bored.” He whined, trying to pull you into the bed with him. If he wasn’t sick he probably would have been able to. 

“No Kyle, I gotta go. I’ll only be gone a little while.” 

That’s when the tears started, he was exhausted and these past couple of days had been really difficult for him. He felt like you weren’t listening to him, like you didn’t care.

“Oh no no no, Kyle please don’t cry my angel,” You sat with him, wiping his tears away “I know you don’t feel good and you want me to hold you, I promise I will come back. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I would never lie to you Ky.” 

He sniffled, he didn’t get it 100%, words always got fuzzy in his mind but as he studied your face, he realized the sincerity in your eyes. 

“I think it will help if I make the room comfy for you, hm?” You got up and closed your black out curtains which helped take some strain off of Kyle’s eyes and dull his headache, you had twinkling fairy lights that added some warmth to the room. 

Kyle looked around, seeing the change in scenery and almost instantly he felt calmer.

Autumn had just begun, Kyle always loved the change of the seasons, but autumn was his favorite. It was so cozy and pretty.

You set up your laptop on a pillow near him, turning on the first episode of “over the garden wall” and covering him back up with your weighted blanket.

He suddenly felt relieved of all the tension left in his body.

“Is this better?” You rubbed the bottom of his back and he nodded, sipping away on his drink.

He was so entranced by the show, that you were able to slip out without saying another word.

You went down into the kitchen where you were graced by the presence of Misty dancing to Fleetwood Mac and twirling around in her flowy clothes 

“Good morning, darlin!” She took your hand and twirled you, “Can I interest you in some French toast? I think I made too much batter.” 

Misty was by far your favorite sister in the coven, she was so kind and sympathetic, especially towards the vulnerable creatures of the world.

“oh Misty, you know that I love your French toast, but I gotta make a mac & cheese cup for Kyle so I’m probably gonna eat one too.” You tried to make your way over to the pantry, but Misty pulled you back towards her playfully. 

“no, you both can eat my French toast it's better for ya,  and I'll even put some strawberries and cream on top to sweeten the deal.”

You happily obliged and sat on one of the bar stools in front of the stove watching Misty do her thing.

“What’re you doing with Kyle, where’s Madison?”

You raised your eyebrows, “Well there was some conflict between the two of them so I decided it would be best if they took a pause- and Kyle is pretty sick, so I told him I’d take care of him.” While it wasn't technically a lie, it also wasn't the truth but you couldn't tell Misty that you had froze Madison in time and kept her in her room for the past 2 days. 

“Aw that’s too bad, why didn’t you tell me the poor angel was sick? I made some elderberry gummies a couple of days ago.” She flipped the toast in the pan, “They do wonders for the immune system, we're coming up on cold and flu season. I'm gonna get ya’ll some, I'll be right back!” she skipped off to her room her golden locks bouncing behind her, “if you smell something burning, just take the pan off the heat!”

She came back with a mason jar, filled with dark purple star shaped gummies,

“these will help him get better faster, but you should probably take some too.”

You nodded, giving her a big smile  “Thanks Misty, you're the kindest person I know.”

“Awww, you don't have to say that. I try to help out where I can. I've seen you do the same, don't think that big heart of yours goes unnoticed.” She gave you a wink as she plated up French toast for both Kyle and You.

“I’ll cut his up,” She grabbed a butter knife from the drawer, cutting the toast in tiny square pieces, “Now, you go take this up and make sure that boy is taken care of!” She handed both plates off to you and turned her little radio up louder, quietly humming the lyrics to herself while she cooked.

“You could be my silver spring Blue-green colors flashin' I would be your only dream Your shinin' autumn ocean crashin"

The music followed along as you made your way back up the spiral staircase, opening the door to your bedroom to see Kyle resting peacefully with his cheek smushed against your pillow, his eyes sleepily taking in the calm scenes of the show. 

“Ky, Misty made us some French toast” you sing-songed. 

He turned to you eyebrows furrowed. That wasn't what he asked for., you noticed his confused expression and took a seat on the bed right next to him.

“I know it's not what you asked for, but did you wanna try?” You asked encouragingly.

He could smell it, and he liked the smell, so he was willing to try. He opened his mouth for you to feed him and you stabbed a piece with your fork, placing it in.

He chewed it up, it was very sweet so he liked it and showed you by opening his mouth for another piece. If he wasn't sick, you wouldn't have babied him so much, but you could still feel the warmth of fever on his skin so you needed to coddle him for just a little bit more.

and after a few minutes and what felt like magic you had managed to feed Kyle and yourself with no mess, you placed your dishes on your desk you would worry about them later. 

Kyle had felt much better, but he still wanted you all to himself.

“Y/n done?” He perked his head up and looked at you with his big puppy eyes,

“Yes Kyle, I’m all done with everything” You came right over and grabbed his hand, which caused him to smile, shyly.

“L-lay with Kyle..and-and watch p-p-pumpkin?” He pointed to the show, wanting you to enjoy it as much as he did even though you were the one who introduced it.

“Of course, Ky.”

And with that, you wrapped your body right around his, holding him close to your chest. Your fingers intertwined as both of your faces were illuminated by the warm orange lighting of the show. You didn’t know what to call your relationship, you didn’t know if Zoe would ever return, and you didn’t know if you would ever unfreeze Madison by your own will…but you did know one thing, You would love Kyle forever and no one else would ever be able to hurt him as long as there was breath in your body. 

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 13 - Multiple Whumpees

Platonic Boromir and Faramir x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Faramir thinks he's cursed, Boromir blames himself for it, you comfort them both.

Warnings/Notes: Just some family trauma. Also the prompt "family curse"

Word Count: 1279

 “Am I a curse?”

  Boromir winced at his brother's heartbreaking words, shaking his head.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I do not believe father would agree.” Faramir mumbled quietly in response.

  “No… he probably wouldn’t.”

  After Faramir got… let’s just say he got beat pretty good in training with his brother, Boromir realized the consequences that would soon follow. If Denethor even saw the tiniest splatter of blood on Faramir’s skin, the poor man would be verbally harassed and beaten down once more for being weak.

  In reality Faramir’s nose only began to bleed after a striking hit took Boromir out but the handle of his sword bounced back and hit him right in the face. Boromir would never willingly hurt his brother and would feel awful afterwards if it were an accident, but this was worrying too.

  “Stop staring.” Faramir muttered, a rag still held to his nose. The blood was slowing down from its pour but the bruise was incredibly purple and blue. Anybody could see it. “It doesn’t hurt. I’ll be fine.”

  “Father will have your head.”

  “Then he may have it. I’m sick of trying to fight him, Boromir. No matter what I do, the blame will always be on me. I’m the lesser–”

  “Don’t say that.” Boromir stopped him, smacking his leg in warning. “Stop. Just stop. We’ll figure this out.”

  With a huff, Faramir’s shoulders sank. His head dipped forward but more blood came gushing out so he picked it back up. “There’s nothing to figure out. Just let me accept the ridiculing and get it over with.”

  Boromir’s brow creased with worry. There was nothing more he hated seeing than the way his brother thought of himself after so many days of abuse from their father. He fought against it but whenever he stood up for Faramir things only seemed to get worse.

  “Maybe I’m the curse.” Boromir wondered aloud. When he felt Faramir’s eyes flick to him, he turned his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m the one you’re always compared to… the only one father sees, and I hate it because of how it makes you feel. It’s my fault father treats you this way.”

  “Now you’re the one rambling.”

  “It is true. Is it not?”

  “Well… you needn’t word it that way. It makes you sound like a monster.” Faramir took his turn to punch his brother gently in the arm. “Maybe we’re both cursed.”

  “Maybe…”

  The brothers offered each other a sad smile, one shared often in times like this.

  “I have a plan but you won’t like it.”

  “Always the mischievous one.” Faramir’s little grin was happier now, earning a tilt of his head. “What is it?”

  “Punch me. Then we’ll both be hurt and it’ll look like you got me good.”

  “You’re kidding right?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Faramir…”

  “No! I’m not going to bruise your face up just to save me from a scolding.” Faramir crossed his arms and stood up. His nose finally stopped bleeding, the rag discarded on the bench he was once sat on. He began to pace. “There has to be another way.”

  “Another way for what?”

  Both of the brothers looked up as you entered the training hall, sleeves pushed up and hair tied back from a busy day of… who knows what. Then they exchanged a glance.

  “How willing would you be to punch me?” Boromir asked.

  A small smirk tugged at your lips. You’d been friends with the brothers for as long as you could remember. You were all practically siblings at this point. Punching Boromir was something you often warned about but never actually did because he didn’t deserve it. But if you were being offered…?

  “What’s the reason?” You asked, sitting where Faramir had been. 

  “I got hurt. Boromir thinks that if he’s hurt as well then our father won’t scold me.” The standing man explained. Disapproval was written clearly on his face, but also the slightest bit of hope.

  “Wouldn’t you just get in trouble for hurting Boromir then?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Boromir joined it. “Would he really think that?”

  You and Faramir exchanged a glance. “Yes.”

  So, the idea was dropped. Although you were not at all opposed to it, you didn’t want to risk Faramir getting into any more trouble than he already would be.

  Eventually you all did head back into the main halls of Gondor and with one look at his wounded son, Denethor took him aside and wouldn’t let you or Boromir follow.

  You practically had to drag Boromir away from the locked doors. You brought him to Faramir’s chambers so the two of you could be there to comfort him after the inevitable… whatever would come from his father.

  You spent the time tidying Faramir’s things, though the room was incredibly neat, so your job mostly consisted of picking up the tiniest dust bunnies by hand and dumping them into the trash bin. Boromir made quick work of an old blanket he sat on, nails digging into the fabric like the claws of a kneading cat. He spoke not a word, eyes angled firmly on the ground as he silently took it out on himself.

  The silence was deafening. 

  When even humming didn’t help, you finally tried to strike a conversation with the suddenly reserved man.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Boromir didn’t lift his head, staring at a speck on the floor with such ferocity it should have melted by now. His fingers continued their rhythmic clawing at the blanket beneath him. “My whole family is cursed.” He muttered. “And it’s my fault.”

  “Elaborate.” You sat beside him, hand on his knee.

  “My mother was cursed with sickness… my father with madness. My brother is cursed with an unlovable father and it’s because of me. If I wasn’t here… there would be nothing for him to take out on Faramir. And when I stand up for him… it only gets worse.” Boromir whispered softly, voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. He’d clearly been thinking about this for a long time. The words began to spill out against his will. “There’s nothing I can do but sit back and watch my father destroy my brother and it destroys me too.”

  “It isn’t your fault.”

  “It is.”

  “It’s not.” You shook your head, squeezing his knee and then shaking it a little. “You’re not the one being cruel to your brother. You’re the opposite, you’re one of the reasons he’s still okay despite your fathers actions. If you were as evil as you seem to think, you would feel the same about Faramir as Denethor does.”

  Boromir looked at you, reading your eyes as though he was searching for any deception. When he found none, the anger in his gaze faded and he sighed, leaning his head against your shoulder.

  The two of you shared a few moments of peace when the door opened and Faramir entered.

  He was surprised to see the two of you in his chambers, eyes already red and lips tight from the encounter with Denethor. He hesitated at the doorway.

  You beckoned him over, patting the spot beside you.

  Faramir did as you said, settling at your side in the same position as Boromir. 

  “Neither of you two are cursed.” You murmured as you slipped your arms around their sides and pulled them into a gentle hug. “I promise. You just have an awfully shitty father.”

  This drew a chuckle from Boromir, and some sort of approving grunt from Faramir who didn’t trust himself to speak yet. You just squeezed them tighter and held them as close as you could. 

[unforgivenn]

i drug, kidnap, and throw Andrey in my basement. I tell him he deserves it then proceed to cut him up with my knife and then rub salt in his wounds. I then cut off two of his fingers and stab the others fingers. I leave him in a freezing room with no blanket or any sort of comfort.

Noone has the pass to hurt Noah baby like that.

This was... so much fun to write... I should write more of whumpee andrey.. Thanks for breaking my writer's block anon <33

REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD; WHUMPEE ANDREY AU

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY MASTERLIST

CW: GOREE, torture, emotional and psychological abuse, Whumper turned whumpee, reader is whumper, I think its pretty obvious of what the Cw's are from the ask :)

Andrey awoke to darkness. His head throbbed, a dull, pounding pain that seemed to echo through his entire body. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound, heavy chains biting into his wrists and ankles. Panic surged through him as he realized he was in an unfamiliar place, the cold stone floor beneath him sending chills through his bones. The last thing he remembered was being snatched and thrown into this basement. How that happened, he had no idea.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and weak.

A light flickered on, blinding him momentarily. When his vision cleared, he saw a figure standing before him, a cruel smile on their lips. The basement was dimly lit, the walls lined with sinister-looking tools and instruments.

"Who the fuck are you?" Andrey demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I know exactly who you are, Andrey," you replied, your voice dripping with malice. "And I know what you've done."

Andrey's heart skipped a beat. He had made many enemies over the years, his cruel treatment of those beneath him earning him more hatred than he cared to admit. But this... this was different. This was personal.

You stepped closer, revealing a gleaming knife in your hand. "You deserve everything that's coming to you," you said, your eyes burning with a sadistic light. "And more."

"Oh you will regret this, when I execute you. If you know what's good for you, let me go, and I will let you live."

"You speak like you're not scared when I can clearly see the fear coming from you. It's not common isn't it?" You spoke, kneeling beside him and tilting your head.

"What?"

"Well it's not everyday that an heir to a country gets captured is it?"

Andrey's eyes narrowed, his pride and arrogance flaring up even in his vulnerable state.

You don't know who you're dealing with," he spat, though his voice wavered. "My family will find you. They'll make you pay for this."

You laughed, a chilling sound that echoed off the basement walls. "Oh, I'm counting on it. But not before I make you suffer for what you did to Noah."

Andrey's eyes widened. Noah. That pathetic wretch. "Noah? You're doing this for him?" He couldn't help but scoff. "He's nothing. Just a tool. A weak, sniveling—"

A sharp slap cut off his words, the sting burning across his cheek. Your face twisted with rage. "You don't get to talk about him like that. Not anymore."

Andrey's mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He glared defiantly, his pride refusing to yield. "Do your worst," he hissed. "I won't break."

Your smile was a chilling promise. "Oh, I intend to."

Andrey's heart skipped a beat as you held the knife closer to him, but he forced himself to remain still, to show no fear.

"You deserve this," You whispered pressing the blade to Andrey's skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Andrey clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out. The knife dug deeper, slicing through flesh with agonizing slowness.

Andrey's thoughts were a whirlwind of pain and defiance. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He wouldn't scream. He was better than this, stronger. But the pain was relentless, the knife carving cruel patterns into his skin.

"You think you're so strong," You taunted, your breath hot against his ear. "But even you have limits."

Andrey's vision blurred with tears he refused to shed. His pride was a fragile shield against the overwhelming agony. Your blade moved with precision, each cut a deliberate act of cruelty. Andrey's body trembled, sweat mingling with blood.

"How does it feel?" You asked, their voice a dark melody.

Andrey's mind screamed with pain, but he forced his lips to stay sealed. He wouldn't give them the pleasure of his suffering. He was a noble, damn it. He was—

A searing pain ripped through his hand, your knife sawing through bone and flesh. Andrey's world exploded in a blinding agony, his resolve shattering. He couldn't stop the scream that tore from his throat, raw and primal.

"That's better," you murmured, your voice filled with twisted satisfaction. You held up Andrey's severed fingers, blood dripping onto the floor. "Even the mighty can fall."

Andrey's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling uncontrollably. Your eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as you held up a jar of salt in front of his face, mocking him.

"No! You can't do that!" It was obvious that Andrey's bravery facade was starting to break, and you couldn't stop grinning ear to ear about it.

The pain was indescribable as you poured the jar of salt across his body, not even giving him a chance to recover, a fiery agony that consumed him. "But that's the thing, Andrey. I can do whatever I want." He screamed again, his pride crumbling under the relentless assault.

"How does it feel?" you taunted, your voice cold and hard. "How does it feel to be the one in pain for once?"

Andrey couldn't answer, his mind consumed by the unbearable torment. He could barely think, barely breathe, his entire existence reduced to a haze of pain and fear.

But you weren't done. You grabbed his hand, holding it down as you brought the knife to his fingers. Andrey's heart raced, terror flooding his veins. "No, no, please," he begged, his voice a desperate whisper. "I'll do anything..."

You ignored him, your eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as you cut through his fingers, one by one. Andrey screamed, the pain a white-hot explosion that left him gasping for breath.

You cut off two of his fingers, the stumps bleeding profusely. Andrey could barely see through the haze of pain, his vision blurred with tears. He sobbed, his body trembling with agony and fear.

You stabbed the remaining fingers, each thrust of the knife sending fresh waves of pain through Andrey's body. He screamed until his voice gave out, the sound a hoarse, broken whisper that echoed through the basement.

Finally, you stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied smile. Andrey lay on the floor, his body a wreck of pain and blood, his mind a shattered ruin.

"You think you're so powerful," you sneered, your voice filled with contempt. "You think you're untouchable. But look at you now. You're nothing."

You grabbed him by the hair, dragging him across the floor and throwing him into a small, freezing room. Andrey's body ached with every movement, his wounds burning with a relentless agony. He shivered violently, the cold seeping into his bones.

"No blankets, no comfort," you said, your voice echoing through the room. "You can freeze in here. You deserve it."

You slammed the door shut, leaving Andrey alone in the darkness. He lay there, his body trembling with pain and cold, his mind a chaotic jumble of fear and despair.

Noah's face flashed through his mind, the boy's terrified eyes pleading for mercy. Andrey had shown him none, and now he was paying the price. He sobbed, his tears freezing on his cheeks, his body wracked with pain.

In the freezing darkness of the room, Andrey’s breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale sending a fresh wave of cold pain through his chest. His mind swirled in a haze of agony and fear, struggling to grasp the reality of his situation.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, his last thoughts were of Noah, the boy he had tormented and broken. He had thought himself powerful, untouchable, but now he was nothing more than a broken, bleeding wreck, a prisoner of his own cruelty.

He would suffer, alone and forgotten, a prisoner of his own making. And there would be no one to save him.

No one to hear his screams.

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