#recaptured Whumpee

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

The first time Whumpee said

"Can I have some more?"

"I wish you came more often."

"I'm too tired for that.."

"It may not be perfect but I made it."

"I like that one better."

"..I don't get it- oh!"

"Please remember my meds this time."

"Can you look it up?"

"No, the other left- thanks."

"What did you say?"

"I think I can do it by myself."

"Best day of my life. Really."

"You look like a clown!"

"Surprise!"

"Do you need some help?"

"We're nearly there."

But when Whumpee came back

even though Caretaker begged with tears in their eyes

They couldn't say any of that.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

so... how about that jameson au though

(Anon is referencing an AU where Nanda turns up alive, I wrote a short piece on the concept here)

CW: Whumpee returned to whumper, captor bonding, dubcon (mostly implied? mostly), grief

Nanda's thumb and finger rub along the back of Jameson's neck, and he closes his eyes, tipping his chin forward to bare the skin more fully to the familiar touch. The leather seat beneath him feels impossibly soft. The car is new, but the scent of it isn't.

"What do they call you now?" Nanda asks, carefully casual, steering into a turn without signaling. His car, sleek and silver and looking somehow incredibly futuristic and oddly sexual, glides along the road. "In this house I found you in?"

Jameson doesn't look up. He can feel his skin prickling, the hair on his arms standing up. At the same time, he's shivery, feels a warmth pulsing through him. "Jameson," He says. His voice is hoarse. It's always hoarse now. For so long...

"Jameson?" Nanda's voice sounds curious, only curious. His fingernail scrapes lightly along Jameson's nape, edging the softest baby hairs there. Jameson's breath catches. "Like the whiskey?"

He swallows. Custard and blood, a voice he thought he'd never taste again. Vanilla and copper, somehow swimming together. It's not a good taste, but it's one his life revolved around once. A taste he loved, sometimes hated, sometimes both in equal measure. "Yeah." He drops to a whisper. "I was kept in a... a house for a while. I could see these bottles... he'd empty the bottles, and line them up. Jamison Whiskey, always. I thought it-... it sounded like a good name."

Nanda pauses. "... you read the bottles?"

Oh, right. Nanda never knew.

Jameson hitches in a breath. They're still slipping through the city like an eel through ocean, winding around neighborhoods as if avoiding beds of green plants waving in the water. The lights are purple in some spots and bright in others. Jameson wonders if Nanda's taking him-

... what used to be home.

"I read the bottles," He whispers. "I could-... I could always read."

Another long pause. Nanda glances behind him, then pulls over - still without using his turn signal, and that sure hasn't changed. The car's tires crunch along the gravel beside the road, then settle into a rumbling smoothness as they move into grass. Nanda cuts the lights, and leaves he and Jameson sitting in total darkness, without even a streetlight to see by. Only the dim hint of moonlight and stars.

"You weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I... I know. But I can."

"You never told me you could." Nanda's palm is heavy and hot on his neck, now. Jameson twists his fingers into his sweatpants to keep his hands from shaking as Nanda's voice drops low, too. "You lied to me."

"I was-... scared to tell you."

"You should have told me anything. Everything. There shouldn't have been anything I didn't know."

"No, I know, but... fuck. What if you had them take it away?" He looks, now. He finds the courage to raise his head, to turn and look Nanda right in his eyes. They're just a gleam in the night. "I needed it. I, I'm alive because I can read. If I couldn't, and you died, I wouldn't have... been able to read, to, to know-"

"You lied." No anger. Just calm certainty. "To me."

"... yes. I lied." He jerks away from Nanda's hand finally, raking a hand back through his hair, hating it again. It used to be thick, and kind of pretty actually. Used to look good. Even this long after escaping Robert, it still grows in unevenly, different lengths. And some places never grew back at all, so he has to grow it out to cover the bald spots up, but then the uneven bits are obvious, and... "I fucking lied, okay?! I had to protect myself. I had to, to keep safe."

"From me?" Nanda's voice is empty of emotion. It's worse than anger could ever be. "You had to protect yourself from me?"

"More than anyone, you fucking asshole!"

He's going to cry again. He forces the heat of the tears back, lets them turn into a twist of acid anger in his chest alongside his racing heart. He doesn't lower his gaze. He looks Nanda right in the face.

He thought he'd never see this face again.

"You-" His voice cracks, and he fights to get it back. Not to go silent now, when he has to say this, the thing he's always held inside. There's never been a grave he could cry at, there's never been a body to bare his heart to. Not since-

"You could have killed me yourself, and I'd have let you do it." The words come out too quickly, they run together and he's breathless at the end of the sentence. He grabs at Nanda's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he can feel Nanda's bones move, can hear the slightest hiss of breath as he winces. "And you might have. Even if all you did was send me back, they'd wipe it all away again. I'd lose too much, I'd lose you, you shit, and I didn't want to lose you. When you died, I thought-"

"I wasn't dead-"

"I didn't fucking know that!" He can't scream anymore, not like he used to. His voice only turns to wind, the rasp of an oncoming storm. Nanda is a rumble of thunder, and Jameson the leaves shivering on branches about to blow down and die. "If they found me, they'd blame me, and they'd send me back, for being defective, for being a fucking reject, for-... they'd take you away. They'd take you away from me, from my head."

He pulls Nanda's hand to him, leans forward, his forehead resting against the warmth of Nanda's palm, those fingers curved slightly over the top of his head. Like a god giving benediction, maybe. Like he could be lifted up or shoved off a cliff with just one motion.

"I couldn't lose you, not because I wasn't right. I couldn't fucking lose you. If you knew I could read, if you sent me back-... if they sent me back after you died-... they'd take you. I couldn't, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. You're mine, god damn it, you were mine!"

"Pet-"

"I had to keep you mine." He drops his grip on Nanda's hand, but it doesn't move away, and neither does he. "I had to keep you in my head, because-... because if you were gone, and I didn't know you, then why was I ever here?"

He's talking about Nanda, and he isn't. There's some other face beneath it, another voice, another taste. A smile he'd known from his first memories, a loss he couldn't recall because it had been a loss too great to bear losing.

He doesn't let that other face surface. Some part of him knows the name but he holds it deep, deep down. "I'm what I am because I thought it was okay to lose, to forget, but when you were gone, I, I couldn't, I couldn't lose again. I couldn't forget you again. Don't you fucking understand that?"

Nanda stares at him, slightly wide-eyed, an expression Jameson has never seen before in his handsome, angular face. There's so much more silver in his beard now than there used to be. But they both look so much older, so much different, now.

The silence draws out, between them, and Jameson twists. Lightning threatens. There's no rumble of thunder, only the weight of something about to break overhead and if it does, he'll drown.

"Well?" His voice shakes, but he covers it up with rage. He always covers up his fear with anger. It's the only way he's lived this long. It's safe and easy. "Lost your fucking voice now, all of a sudden? Huh? You gonna fucking say something to me, you piece of shit, you were dead and how goddamn dare you come back and take me like nothing ever happened, like I didn't-... like I didn't have to live without you, for so long without, like I-"

He never finishes the sentence.

"Shut up," Nanda snaps. It's a growl, a snarl, and Jameson thrills to the sound of his voice. His hands are there, they shove Jameson to the side and then back. Nanda hits something along the side of his seat and the back drops flat. Jameson gasps as his head bounces back against the headrest, and then Nanda is on top of him again, yanking his shirt up with a ferocity that feels like the cloth burns along his scarred skin as it goes. His wrists are tangled in the cotton and Nanda grunts, irritated, and leaves it there as he works at Jameson's sweatpants, yanking them down off his hips until he's nearly naked, on his back in the passenger seat of a car, on the side of the road.

"Nanda-"

"I said shut the fuck up-"

Nanda's hand claps over his mouth, and his protests are muffled at first. Then they aren't protests at all, as Nanda's lips are hot against his neck, and then his teeth dig and his tongue works against the reddening skin he's just bitten.

Nanda's hand closes around him, between his legs, and Jameson cries out, all but levitating off the seat into scorching touch. He's dizzy, with the way all his blood suddenly shifts to meet that hand. He can barely think. Nanda's strokes are rough and fast, and Jameson rolls into them, again and again. All his thoughts are washed away by the lust that floods him.

Somewhere under that, though...

He's still afraid.

It could end any second.

It could all have been a dream.

This might have been the wrong choice.

Or it wasn't a choice at all.

Nanda yanks his hand back and Jameson whimpers at the loss, whines like an animal in heat, only to have Nanda grab him and roughly turn him over, throwing him back down. They're closed in this car, the space too small for it. His elbow bangs on something, his feet are pressing up against the rough carpet under the dashboard. But that hand is off his mouth, then. He can breathe, and he can make a sound that isn't entirely human as Nanda's mouth is back on his neck, the heat of his chest against Jameson's shoulder blades, the hardness of him pressed just where Jameson wants it, always wanted it

Didn't always want it-

"Nanda... please-... just wait-"

"I don't wait for you," Nanda whispers against his ear, nips at the shell. He can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling, as broken as that sound is now from his ruined throat. "You wait for me, when I say. You don't tell me when."

Jameson's eyes open, then. He's staring into an expanse of stars through the back windshield, and the sky is so goddamn empty between them, isn't it? Between the tiniest points of light, dead suns, and maybe their planets still revolve around them in the darkness.

"... I was learning," He whispers.

Nanda pauses. His breath is deafening against Jameson's ear. "What?"

"... I was learning how to say when."

He's a planet orbiting a dead star.

"Pet-"

"... I loved you."

"Loved?"

He's crying again. Goddamnit, he's crying again, and his shoulders shake with the sobs he can't hold back any longer. Nanda exhales and drops, weight against him, reassuring and real, alive. "I still love you, but I love-... I love-... I loved that I learned to be-... to b-be Jameson, fuck, stop it stop it stop crying, you shit, you fucking, just stop fucking crying!"

"Sssshhhhh. It's okay." Nanda's voice is a rumble, and the world shakes a little, gentle as a shower of rain. But he can't taste the rain here, not so far away from Allyn.

He can't taste the rain, only copper and sweet.

The stars blur into nothing, they're lost to the darkness when he tries to look through the tears. Even if his vision clears, it isn't even the stars he'd be seeing.

"Nanda... there's someone else."

He only sees the memory of what's already been lost.

[bedtimescenarios]

Recaptured living weapon Whumpee who is about to face the consequences of their escape. And when Whumper brings them back into that painfully familiar room, when they calmly take out the whip, Whumpee knows precisely what to do.

Their feet take them to the middle of the room, and they kneel, methodically disposing of their shirt. As their shoulders roll back into a straightened position, they can practically feel Whumper's gaze burning into the back of their head. A sadistic, eyes-only smile, knowing that even though Whumpee was physically free for some time, they never truly escaped.

[whumblr]

"Well well, look who came to spring the trap."

All three of them spun around, Whumpee the most reluctant as they recognised the familiar voice and fear rooted them to the spot. Caretaker's hand moved to the gun on his hip, Team leader had his already raised with the safety clicked off. Both took a step towards each other, shoulder to shoulder, to stand in front of Whumpee.

Whumper merely raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Let's not get too excited, hm? All I want..." His hungry gaze slid in-between the two and fixed on Whumpee, who had no weapon drawn and seemed closer to backing away than to stand with their team against him.

Caretaker peeked a quick glance back at them, before focusing on Whumper again. "A trap?" He almost scoffed. "You're outnumbered and unarmed. What makes you think we can't stop you?"

"Oh sure. You can stop me from taking them." Whumper's chin tipped down and he leered at Whumpee. "But can you stop them from coming to me?"

[lumpywhump]

The sheer panic and pain of whumpee being recaptured!

its something whumpee has always feared, and now their nightmare is real. When whumper grabs them from behind, knife to the throat, hand to the back of their head. Whumpee took self defense classes with caretaker because of their paranoia. Whumpee tried whatever they can. They stomped on whumper's foot. No effect. They try to headbutt whumper, but their hand is in the way. They try to knock out whumpee's knee. No effect. Whumper just chuckles at their attempts. Whumpe is getting desperate. They drop all their training and just tries to do whatever they can to get away. They start screaming and sobbing for help. No one can hear them though. Whumper isn't that careless. So whumper lets them tell as much as they want. It's cute that they think they can get away. Whumpee pulls at the hand with the knife. Whumper is too strong and too big. They flail against whumper. Finally, their sobs quiet and their attacks cease. Whumpee is exhausted and helpless. Whumpee leans back on whumpers chest unable to hold themself up any more. Whumper leans down, their voice curling around whumpee's ear. "Are you ready to come home?" All whumpee can do is nod.

[whitecoatwhump]

Today’s vibe:

That moment in recapture whump when a defiant whumpee goes from “You aren’t taking me back; I won’t let you!” to “Please don’t take me back. Please!”

[letitbehurt]

Dog-catcher poles being used to manhandle Whumpee.

Wire choking off air when Whumpee fights or fails to move fast enough, easily cutting through the skin. Hands bound behind their back so that they can’t grab the pole being used to drag them along. Whumper(s) keeping their distance because watch it, this one bites—

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day Three

Prompt: Pinned Down

Febuwhump Masterpost

Whumpee ran. Sprinted through Whumper’s camp, feeling the cold, packed damp earth slapping beneath his feet was disgustingly wonderful. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever miss, no… but here he was, breathless from the run, already exhausted from weeks of being captured and subdued, beaten and grounded and starved. His lungs screamed at him to stop, his muscles clenching as if he was ten sets into a workout, but Whumpee continued running.

A small crazed smile on his lips as he felt the wind on his face, rushing through his damp hair that Whumper kept tied back. The first thing Whumpee did when he got free was take that blasted bobbin from his hair and let his shoulder length raven birds nest free. He felt… oh gods, he felt alive.

He cleared the camp paths, rushing out of the alleyways packed with tents like buildings on either side and when he emerged onto the field that their camp was on he finally— after weeks that felt like years, stretched his white, feathered wings and continued to run.

Damn the ache in his back from spreading them.

Damn the stiffness of his limbs as he stretched them out to their full wingspan. He felt whole again now that they were no longer chained to his back at awkward angles.

He swallowed the cheers, the hollers, the whoops that threatened to spill out of his mouth from the relief, but he wasn’t out for the woods yet. He still had to clear Whumper’s camp before he risked making any more noise than is necessary.

He beat his wings after the stiffness faded to mere pins and needles. He was skinner than before, even if they were a little out of practice, they would hold him in the skies until he was free. They had never failed him before. And with the cool night air on his cheeks, the sable night sky calling to him, the stars winking, beckoning him to the heavens, Whumpee beat his wings, once, twice, then he was up.

He faltered a bit as he tried to steady himself in the air, a single, breath denying moment of a stumble as he fell through the air. But his wings caught and he wasn’t out for flying— he was—

He was FLYING!

He didn’t care as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, whipped away by the wind as he soared high above his prison, Whumper’s vile camp.

He was— he was actually going to be free…

And then he flew straight into a wall. Whumpee blinked, stunned as his body slammed against it— but it was just open air. Open sky.

“No,” he muttered, slamming his hand against it and a ripple whirled against the invisible barrier. The same barriers that Whumper’s sadistic Right Hand could weave. “No! No, NO!”

He pushed and clawed against the barrier and glanced up. He tried to fly above its edge, the impenetrable wall meeting a ceiling and he cursed.

“No! No! No! Come on,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against the barrier. There had to be a weak spot. There had to be.

“Do you know what the real kicker is?” A cold voice asked from below. Whumpee froze physically, while his insides raged against a storm. His heartbeat hammered against his chest, sweat forming on his brow, his chest, his back from the exertion. Whumpee trembled as he tilted his head down to see Whumper directly below him. Whumper met Whumpee’s gaze with a cruel smile as he stepped past the barrier that kept Whumpee trapped within the confines of the camp. “It only works on you, darling. It helps to keep your pesky friends out, and your defiant, ungrateful self in. Exactly how I want you.”

Whumpee snarled. “I’m not coming down. I’m not letting you chain me up again.”

Whumper stepped back into the barrier, all humour gone from his sharp, angular face, but his eyes glinted with a dark promise. “Good thing I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

With a click of his fingers a spear appeared in his hand and Whumpee paled. Whumper tossed the spear in his hand, getting the weight of it in his fingers as he assessed Whumpee above.

“You can either come down here, now, or I’ll bring you down, boy.”

Whumpee glanced around the camp, but there was nobody else out of bed. Only Whumper. He could fly to the opposite end, avoid his attacks and then what? He couldn’t leave! Spelled to remain—

Before Whumpee could finish the thought he felt the whistle of the spear through the air and he rolled, barely dodging the blow in time. The spear ran straight through the barrier like a mocking taunt, but Whumpee couldn’t focus on that as Whumper summoned another spear into his hand.

“This one won’t miss. One last chance, Whumpee,” Whumper sang. His voice like gravel, echoing shards of ice through Whumpee’s ears and sending shivers down his spine. Whumpee knew how good Whumper’s aim was, and he didn’t want his wings to be speared which is exactly what Whumper would do.

Whumpee hung his head, wings beating against the air to keep him up. “Okay,” he said, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he said again and let the air catch his wings as he descended.

It was pathetic really. Whumpee had a chance at freedom, at escape, and all it took for his defiance to smoulder was Whumper. Not an army. Not an onslaught of Whumper’s bloodthirsty soldiers, just… just him. With a spear.

Whumpee’s feet had barely touched the ground before Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee’s head hit off the barrier with an oomph as his shoulders took the brunt of the blow to the cold, hard earth below.

Whumper straddled Whumpee’s waist, a cold smile on his thin lips. “You know how much I love your wings, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, running his fingers over the feathers that made Whumpee squirm. He didn’t want the sensitive spots to be touched, especially by Whumper. That was something that he and his mate would share if he— if he ever got out of here.

But Whumper knew that. Knew how intimate a gesture touching Whumpee’s wings was and did it anyway.

“Which is why I’m so proud you didn’t make me put a hole through them,” he continued, touching an especially sensitive spot that made Whumpee whimper under Whumper. “But you still need to be punished. Right Hand suggested I clip your wings.”

Whumpee’s eyes went wide through his terror, shaking his head as Whumper smiled down his horrible smile at Whumpee. “Don’t worry, darling, I told her I won’t do that. I want you to still be able to fly… but your punishment remains.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and yanked his hand down until it was parallel to the ground. Whumpee struggled, trying to pull against Whumper’s strength, but his grip was strong, sure. Fed. Whumper wasn’t starved like Whumpee. Whumpee’s resistance was futile and they both knew it.

“Now, since your hands are the actual offenders, getting you out of your chains, I think this will be a fitting punishment.”

Whumper didn’t wait a beat before slamming the spear through Whumpee’s palm and burying it into the ground below. Whumpee screamed and thrashed under Whumper, begging, pleading for him to take it out, take it out, I’m sorry.

Whumper clicked his fingers and another spear appeared. Whumpee kicked and tried to worm his way out from under Whumper but every small movement aggravated his impaled hand and he cried out.

“You got cooped up, little bird, it’s okay,” Whumper cooed. “You wanted to be outside, you should’ve just asked, boy.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s free hand. “No! No! Please, Whumper! Please!”

“See? With those manners, I’d give you anything, darling.”

Then he impaled Whumpee’s other palm into the ground, effectively pinning him to ground, arms stretched out wide to his sides. Whumpee screamed as fire raced through his blood, no longer struggling but every breath, every tremor threatened to move his limbs and he wanted to be sick. The stench of dirt and cold and metal from his blood filled his senses which roared like a beast inside him.

Whumper’s smile dropped from his face as he stared down at Whumpee. He stroked a hand down Whumpee’s wing and Whumpee couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction that tore against his hand and he screamed again.

“Now boy, you’re outside. Just as you wanted. A nice night below the stars might do you some good.”

Whumpee trembled as Whumper’s heat pulled away from him as the bastard stood. His mind only processing Whumper’s words after he walked towards the streets line with tents.

“Wait! You- you can’t leave me here!” Whumpee yelled after him, panic seizing his throat. “Whumper!”

Whumper didn’t answer, just kept walking further and further away. “Whumper! WHUMPER!”

“WHUMPER!”

There was no response. Whumpee stared up at the stars winking down at him, beckoning him to the sky and he sobbed.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Words cannot describe how much Whumpee hated that place. Yet they were again dragged here, and the first few days of opening their eyes to that familiar view made them mutter over and over again, this is just a nightmare.

But the days after that, whumpee could feel their heart crawl inwards as the hardwired rules, the accustomed words, the trained behavior

jumped right back and fit them neatly.

It was almost as if this was how everything was meant to be.

[bedtimescenarios]

Please write more mind control whump your piece on it was so good

Thank you so much!! Here you go, hope you enjoy! Mind control is so messed up but so fun to write :))

Lillies

CW: manhandling (brief), non-con touch (not sexual), intimate Whumper, mind control and all the autonomous restrictions that come with it

A pained yelp escapes Whumpee's throat as they're practically thrown inside the room by the hair. They stumble to the ground, head instantly perking upward, just in time to notice Whumper's sharp grin widen. They're well aware of the fact that Whumper could've simply made them go back, yet, to their exasperation, Whumper sometimes prefers manhandling them instead. Perks of having a choice.

As Whumpee nearly bumps into a foot of the luxurious bed in the middle of the room, Whumper calmly steps forward, the smile slowly fading as they speak.

"Oh, Whumpee, what were you doing just now?" their voice resounds, impossibly melodic. It takes everything in Whumpee not to flinch as they take another step towards them, dark eyes scanning the smaller form as if they were a lamb set for slaughter.

The gate was unlocked. Did they truly expect them not to take the chance? To not run from this harrowing paradise they've been trapped inside of for... how long has it been again? Whumpee knows their mind is fucked now, but they don't feel like making matters worse in the moment. As much as they try to remain coherent in finding an excuse, they stammer under Whumper's gaze. They absolutely hate it, how the thought of Whumper's abilities alone makes them shiver. "I didn't try anything- I swear, I was just-"

"I gave you certain privileges, Whumpee." They interrupt, tone calm and composed. With their eyebrows slightly raised, forming a small crease in the middle, they give the impression of scolding a child. "You're making me regret trusting you with them."

Whumpee has to physically keep themselves from scoffing. Privileges, right. As in basic personal autonomy. Being able to use their own body has recently become a reward instead of a guarantee. If they could just reach out, stuff Whumper's mouth with a gag and wipe that grin off their face-

Whumper raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused. "That's not a very nice thing to say." They pause, seemingly contemplating their words for a second before correcting themselves. "Or think."

Whumpee's eyes shut tightly, and they bite back a snarky remark, attempting to also wipe it from their mind. While Whumper chuckles, they gather their thoughts. "Look- I was just in the garden, tending to the lillies, nothing else."

Whumper tsks, taking a step so sudden that Whumpee can't help but shrink back. A hint of a smile crosses their face at the sight, and they kneel down next to Whumpee. They reach out a hand, and Whumpee half expects all their thoughts to vanish. Surprisingly, they simply run their fingers through their hair, untangling it with an uncanny gentleness. A moment of silence passes, one that feels like ages to Whumpee. As a stray strand of hair is neatly tucked away from their face, and the hand rests lightly on their cheek, Whumpee's instincts overcome them and they speak up.

"I won't try to leave again, I promise. Just don't-"

"Don't what, Whumpee?" Whumper coos, their thumb brushing against Whumpee's freckles. "Don't melt your pretty brain, make all the thoughts in it evaporate? Don't mould you into the Whumpee that nuzzles their head against my neck and smiles whenever I hand them a flower?"

Whumpee's eyes flicker. These blackouts they experience- the stretches where they’re aware one moment but wake up weeks later- have only been described to them by Whumper. The possibility, or rather the probability, that Whumper is telling the truth is gnawing away at them. They absolutely dread it- being mindless again and not even conscious enough to remember, let alone retaliate.

"That's not me, and you know it." They tilt their head, their tone slightly passive aggressive, yet laced with fear. Still, Whumper doesn't seem to mind.

"Oh, but it is. I know it's hard to admit it, Whumpee, especially since you've never witnessed any of it." They pause, eyes studying them closely, and the expression that flashes across their face is one Whumpee can't identify. It makes their hair stand on end.

"Perhaps I should let you."

When Whumper leans back on their knees, picks a flower from the decorated vase on the edge of the table and reaches for their hand, Whumpee flinches back. Whumper's mouth curls upwards into a soft smile, and they gently pull one of Whumpee's clenched hands open, placing their own on top. As Whumpee tries to shift away, their grip tightens.

"You should know by now there's no point in fighting me."

That's the cue for a blackout, Whumpee thinks. Their heart skips a beat as they don't. Instead, the dull room seems to brighten, a caleidoscopic mix of sun rays and soft, hued particles of dust. They surround Whumpee like stars, expanding magnificently until they all gather around the still smiling figure in front of them. Whumper's eyes seem to gleam, and Whumpee notices for the first time just how sage flecks are splattered across their brown irises, how their dark hair glows in tints of red in the sun... No. no, no.

When Whumper hands them the flower, they want to smack their hand away, yet their body takes it. Their mouth curls into a smile, and they thank Whumper, their body leaning forward and arms wrapping around Whumper. They want to scream as they feel the embrace tighten. Let me go, Whumpee thinks. And Whumper hears it, Whumpee's certain, as they see a hint of a grin on their face as they pull back.

"You're welcome, Whumpee."

Whumpee's stomach churns- or is it just their mind wishing it could?- when they're pulled to their feet by the hand and they smile wider at their captor. Let me go, they repeat in their mind, but their body doesn't say it. Their body keeps their fingers intertwined with Whumper's, thumb brushing against their knuckles.

"This is my home. Thank you for making me realize it." Their mouth says, and they wish they'd settled for the blackouts.

"You're such a sweetheart," Whumper murmurs. "Let's continue tending to the lillies together."

[lumpywhump]

A living weapon whumpee trained not to react to pain (unless they faint from it) THIS IS SO JUICY bc rn I'm really into a living weapon whumpee that has to pretend to be the weapon again (please send me any good stories with this I'm dying) (yes I have already seen the falcon and the winter soldier) it's so damaging! OMG and when whumpee thinks they're completely deprogrammed and handler says a command and whumpee does it without even thinking. ASN WHEN ITS A COMMAND/TRIGGER WORD THAT WHUMPEE DIDNT KNOW ABOUT!!!!!!! then when whumpee has to heal all over again they are constantly worried that there's no point bc handler/whumper will take them back and retrain them.

[whumppromptoftheday]

two whumpees meet by accident and become more confident in public again. as they spend more time out in the open, whumper has a chance to get both of them back

[whumblr]

Ball and chain

Whumpee meekly walked along, resigned, hands cuffed in front of them, two henchmen clinging to both arms as they were marched into the large room. Like they were both walking them down the aisle.

Except the man who they were tied to was all but bliss. And did not accept any form of seperation.

And he now stood waiting for them in the middle of the room. He turned and his eyes immediately fixed on Whumpee. Myeah... they were in trouble.

The man barely contained himself, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and his rage plain to see in his eyes, swirling about like thunderclouds.

You'd think that, with all the trouble they caused, he would be glad to see the back of them... instead of sending out a search team and dragging them back to their cell.

They stopped right in front of him and Whumpee swore they saw something twitch in his jaw. His eyes bored into theirs, but they didn't look away.

"Leave," Whumper growled.

The two men gladly let go of their arms and turned to leave the room.

Whumpee however followed suit: they spun on their heels and made to follow them out. But before they could even take one step, a hand clamped around their shoulder.

"Not you, you goddamned little gargoyle, what makes you think I was talking to you."

Willfully ignoring the fingers digging into their shoulder, Whumpee simply watched, a little rueful, as the henchmen succesfully made their way out, leaving them alone here. Then they turned around again, shrugging the hand off with the softest huff.

"Well, you were looking at me, so..."

-

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

[auroragehenna]

[Post/late in recovery]

It knocks on the door. Whumpee is suprised, they weren‘t expecting anyone but they think nothing on it. Putting down whatever they were doing and going to the door.

The open it and.

Stare right into a grinning Whumper‘s face.

„Whumpee…How nice to see you again…“

[whumpsoda]

WSFSP - Refurbished Graham AU - Face to Face

So! A little backstory for this au:

Much later on in the lives of those at the safe house, when Graham is out living on his own, he is discovered by WRU and put back in the system to be refurbished. The group sets out to get him back after he’s been retrained, but find out soon enough that he’s been reduced to a completely blank slate who can’t even look at them without getting a headache :( This is one of their first time visiting during his second road to recovery!

——————

As Graham stepped in, chest puffed and expression stone cold, the sight was almost comforting considering he’d never lost the habit. He held those constantly shifting eyes, always keen on the room around him, and fists that clenched in a rhythm to put a pulse of his anxiety on display. It proved rather kind to see those familiarities shining through underneath all that was new.

The new, though, was not overshadowed.

The first to be noticed was his haircut. An uneven, frankly unnerving buzz cut, tufts of hair popping like firecrackers in all different directions. He scratched at his scalp every so often, a nervous habit.

His clothing was blank and generic, gray sweatpants and a sage green crew neck. It suited him, although never as well as his favorite jacket or his band tees. Maybe he picked it out himself, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t gotten to that step just yet, even though he already had so long ago.

Wesley couldn’t see it, but had no doubt there were black, thick numbers etched over the scar where they were once taken off, now new and fresh. His chest surged with binding affliction.

So painfully desolate, Graham was then. Gut burningly empty, wiped clean.

It was selfish of Wesley to think so, to still be so terribly dissatisfied with Graham’s rescue, that they hadn’t gotten to him sooner - they should have gotten to him sooner but they didn’t - and now, even while he was still there in front of him, it wasn’t really him, now was it?

“Hello.” Graham had said, turning his gaze and sticking it to the floor, fixed to his feet. Wesley wasn’t sure when Graham’s intimidating air had dwindled into the towering ball of wariness that stood before him. Wether it was due to the amount of people with their attention fixed on him, or the pain swirling through his head, no one knew.

Wesley grit his teeth, just enough that it wouldn’t seep into his expression as he waved, small, back. August held one of Graham’s fists, rubbing ever so tenderly over his scarred flesh with a gentle thumb that should have been his.

In pained silence they had moved to the couch, a blanket hoisted between them to keep Graham’s impending headache at bay. Maybe that way Wesley could pretend he was still talking to his best friend without a visual to compare.

Wesley took it upon himself to break the looming air of melting stillness, a thick pocket of air stuffing up the room with cotton. Every so often someone new parted their lips as if to start, before only snapping them shut a moment later. It really was his place to be the first to say something, anyway.

“How’s it with them? August ‘n Simon?” Wesley started, slicing through the quiet, a little bit louder than his voice was meant to be.

Graham’s breath momentarily hitched. “Good. Very good.” He mumbled, again stealing a scratch at his hair.

Better than with us, he thought to ask but didn’t say. Instead, “Mm,” sufficed.

“One second-,” Graham paused, sipping in a dry breath. “Sorry. Just, um, hurts. To hear you.” He huffed a laugh, glittering with Graham. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be this bad.”

Without thinking, Wesley responded with a dry chuckle of his own, weak and half assed. “Same here.”

“It will die down in a bit. I think.” A pause, thinking. “How have… you been?”

“M- me?” Wesley turned to look at him, wanting to get lost in those hazel eyes of his, in the depth of his voice, but only found the white, blank, strung up blanket. His fingers wound the hem of his shirt into a wad. “I’ve been… okay. Day by day, y’know?”

“Yeah. I… I know.” He licked his lips, chapped and crusty. “I had questions, but, um, I cannot really recall them.” Wesley left him the room to think. “Would you be willing… to tell me about him? More?”

“Like…,” him. Because he wasn’t him, anymore. “Graham?”

“Yes. Please.”

Wesley almost - almost - had the urge to laugh. Was this how Lewis felt, calling him for the first time?

“Um, well,”

It was like meeting him all over again, when Wesley already knew him.

Wesley knew his favorite bands, his most recent favorite color and comfort food, his favorite fucking shampoo. Wesley was there for every little thing, every little milestone.

And it wasn’t fucking fair. Graham put in all that work, built himself up from nothing to a point where he was even farther along than Wesley, living on his own, and they emptied him out like that. Just because they could.

“Where do I even start?” He mumbled, scratching at his throat. A habit he’d never lost, even with the collar years gone. “Have, have you listened to any music yet?”

“Any music? Because, yes, but-,”

“More like punk stuff. He - you - liked angry stuff. You liked to cook to it-,” his knuckles relaxed. “Oh, do you still cook? At all?” What would Wesley even do if he said no?

Graham nodded, eagerly. “Y- yes, I help with dinner a lot. I like it. A lot.”

“That was like… I’ve never seen you happier than putting on your playlist and making something. Everything always tasted so good.” His tongue tingled with memory, and he bathed in it, just for a moment. “You liked these dishes you said your mom - one of them, anyway - used to make.”

“I had… two moms?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, any memory of Graham bringing a rosy warmth to his chest. “You only talked about them a couple times, but I could tell you really missed them.” He could only hope this Graham missed him, like that.

Jaw working, Wesley rolled his head back around his shoulders, bangs flopping out of his face. “I miss you,” A pause, “I wish you would come back.” He didn’t mean to say it, didn’t mean to be so thoughtless, to let it slip through the gates that were his teeth, but also he did.

“O- oh. I’m sorry-,”

“I’m sorry-,” The tears started then, “It’s just… so hard without you, Graham. I miss you so much it hurts, every day.” Choking back the hard, oncoming wave from his gut, he swallowed. “I love you.”

Graham hissed with stinging affliction. “This- I’m sorry, it- it really hurts-,”

“It’s okay, take a sec. I’ll shut up.”

“Sorry- just a moment…,”

August stepped in then, lighting a flaming heat riling up in Wesley’s chest. Jealousy. “We can take a break if you need to.”

“Is, um, is that okay? Please. ‘M sorry.” Graham stumbled, shakily taking the older rescue’s hand.

“You’re fine, man. Nothing to apologize for.” Isaac reassured, with a tender smile to accompany.

“Sorry, sorry.” He mumbled as August led him off to the backyard for a breath of fresh air, holding his head in his hands.

A moment later and he was crying, obvious from the wrack and crumble of his hearty frame, and seeing so made Wesley feel like a total shithead.

Joey curled her arm up and over his shoulder, guiding his head to slump into her chest. No one spoke.

Not a word was shared until they returned, Graham walking in and sitting back in his spot with purpose. His cheeks were still tainted with a red flush, tear tracks staining them with wet.

“You said you miss Graham every day, is that right?” The shadow of a nod. “Something feels like it is missing every day for me, too.” His hand rolled back over his hair. “You…,” clench and release. “Your face hurts more than others to look at. The most. I think… and I do not really know why, I just think that means I must have held onto your memory the longest.” The blanket was gripped by rough, burly hands, gently shrugged over to reveal Graham’s small, toothless smile. “So let’s talk, face to face.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

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[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Sticky Situation- Part 9

Part 8

Hero woke up in an all-too-familiar situation. Inside a pod, squeezed in with expanding foam from all sides, not to mention a large, heavy gag made up of too many layers. This pod felt different somehow. For one thing, the foam was ice-cold, which would’ve been nice if it wasn’t being used as a restraint. Through the little window, they could see that they had been moved to an operating room of some kind. In addition, they could see some kind of tube connecting their pod to another one directly across from them.

A door opened, and Assistant came into view, being roughly escorted by henchmen on either side. They had been gagged just as heavily, and their wrists had been secured with industrial tape. Scientist came in next, followed by Supervillain.

“Nice to see you again, Hero,” Scientist said in a chipper voice.

“Unlike your usual arrangements, we’ve placed you inside a device that will allow us to extract your cryogenic essence. Imagine yourself as a little ice battery. You’ll power the participant inside the pod across from you, giving them a share of your abilities. Of course, this is all theoretical. Accidents can happen, which is why we need to take every precaution. Enter our first volunteer!”

The henchmen wrangled Assistant into the other pod, ignoring their very muffled screams. Hero’s eyes went wide.

“MMMM!! MM-MM!” they protested at the top of their lungs.

The sound barely carried out of their packed mouth. Scientist giggled, shaking their head.

“This is happening, Hero, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Supervillain said, “begin Operation Worker Bee 0-0-1.”

Scientist nodded. The pod door was closed, and expanding foam was dispensed into the small space. Assistant screamed, thrashing around as much as they could. Fear shone in their watery eyes.

Scientist’s finger hovered over a large, hexagonal button. The button that could either give Assistant Hero’s powers, or more likely than not, turn them into a frosty corpse. Something snapped inside Hero, and fire kindled in their eyes. Frost rapidly spread over the pod, obscuring Hero’s face from view. A few moments later, and the entire device shattered in all directions. When the dust settled, Hero stood in the center of the mess, glaring daggers at Supervillain.

Scientist tapped Supervillain’s shoulder nervously.

“They- they’re not supposed to do that,” they said quietly.

Something glinted in Supervillain’s eyes.

“Well, you finally learned how to=“

An ice beam cut Supervillain off, sending them into the wall.

Scientist stood frozen for a moment, before snapping out of it.

“Uh, agents… agents!! Take care of Hero… now!!”

Hero tapped the gag with their finger, letting ice spread through the whole thing until it turned cold and brittle. They spat out the remainder of the frozen, rubbery substance. Scientist watched it shatter on the floor.

“Let. Them. Go.” Hero growled.

One of the henchmen came up from behind Hero, taser in hand. Hero grabbed it with an icy fist, flipping it around and jamming it in the poor soul’s gut. The henchman screamed as they crumpled to the floor. The other henchman? Hero only had to give them a murderous look and they were bolting from the room.

Hero stalked over to Scientist, icy energy in their fists. Scientist scrambled back until their back hit a wall. Hero breathed frost in their face.

“I said. Let them go.”

Scientist nodded, their glasses foggy from Hero’s cold proximity. They scurried over to Assistant’s pod and pressed the button that would release them.

Assistant tumbled out, whimpering. Hero caught them and removed their gag.

“You okay?” Hero asked.

“Be-beh-“

“What? What is it?”

“BEHIND YOU!”

Hero whirled around much too late. Supervillain knocked them back with a punch. Hero sailed across the room into another wall.

“Do you know why I’m a beekeeper, Hero?” Supervillain asked, stalking toward them.

Hero sat up in a daze, their head pounding and spinning.

“Because I hold the life of the hive in my hands,” Supervillain said, “you may think you’re in control, but-“

Supervillain yanked Hero up by their neck, squeezing. Hero gasped for air, grasping at Supervillain’s hand.

“-I’ve always been in charge here.”

Darkness encroached on the edges of Hero’s vision. They just had time to see Assistant approach with a needle before Supervillain dropped them unceremoniously to the ground.

Supervillain rounded on Assistant, but there was already a syringe in their shoulder.

“Oh Assistant,” Supervillain drawled, yanking the drug from their skin, “you really think that dosage will stop me?”

Assistant staggered back. Hero wobbled to their feet. Supervillain prepared to strike their cousin, when they stumbled.

“I-I didn’t expect Hero’s dosage to stop you at all,” Assistant said, “but I thought, maybe, the entire vial would?”

“Are you insane!?” Supervillain slurred, dropping to the floor, “you could kill me!”

“Well, uh, the good news is, Scientist can save you?” Assistant offered uncertainly.

Hero nodded, striding up and towering above Supervillain.

“Funny thing about bees, Supervillain,” Hero said darkly, “if enough of them sting you, the venom could prove lethal.”

Supervillain glared up at them just before their eyes fluttered shut.

“Nice save,” Hero said.

They looked down at Supervillain’s form.

“You didn’t really- I mean- are they gonna…?”

“No,” Assistant laughed, “I only gave enough to knock them out for a couple hours. I just wanted them to feel as afraid as I did these past few days.”

Hero blinked, then smirked.

“You cunning little trickster,” they said.

Alarms rang out throughout the room, and probably throughout the rest of Organization’s building. Oh, right, that henchman that got away.

“You ready?” Hero asked.

“For what?” Assistant asked back.

Hero handed Assistant the taser they had taken.

“For a fight,” Hero said.

Part 10

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